


Callidus Prince and the Unseen Adversary

by ContraryToEverything



Series: Callidus Prince [1]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: A bit of the Dark Arts, Adventure, Age Regression/De-Aging, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Friendship, Gen, Jealousy, Mentors, Potions, Rivalry
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-28
Updated: 2016-11-01
Packaged: 2018-07-18 16:44:27
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 38
Words: 152,982
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7322962
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ContraryToEverything/pseuds/ContraryToEverything
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Severus Snape is given a potion that de-ages him, both in mind and body.  Now, as an eleven year old, he has to relive his years at Hogwarts, but this time, with Harry Potter as his friend</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Callidus Prince will be explained in the next chapter
> 
> Warning: domestic physical & verbal abuse

Prologue

Spring 1991

 

Sitting in Potions class at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, the sixth year student appeared to be a model of propriety.  She was quiet, well mannered and intelligent.  Her essays were concise and well written.  Her Potions were usually close to perfect.  She did well in her other magical classes: Transfigurations, Charms, Ancient Runes, Defence, and Arithmancy.  But her grades in Potions were better than the rest of her other classes.  

 

Her Potions teacher at Hogwarts was Professor Severus Snape.  He had sallow skin, a large beak-like nose, and he wore nothing but black.  His greasy, lanky hair fell to his shoulders, and his eyes were black like tar.  Professor Snape hated dunderheads and incompetent nincompoops.  The sixth year girl was neither.

 

The Hogwarts student knew that Professor Snape thought well of her, even if she wasn’t a Slytherin.  She was able to answer all his questions in class.  She never wasted ingredients.  She never caused him any grief or trouble.  But although Professor Snape may have thought well of her, she hated him.  The sixth year loathed him with a fiery, consuming passion.  Her hatred towards him was something that sat low in her gut.  It simmered with an unceasing heat, driving her onwards.  Whether she was stirring her potions, or writing an essay, she fueled that bitterness.  She would never - could never -  forgive him for what he had done.

 

After all, this sixth year girl knew something about the Potions Professor that most other people were ignorant of.  It was a story her mother had told her, as she lay dying in St. Mungo’s Hospital one year ago.  

 

 “The healers tell me there’s no cure,” her mother had said to her.  The older woman had looked so frail and small in that hospital bed.  “The disease is a magical corruption.  I only have week left at most.  I’m sorry darling - I’m so sorry.  It breaks my heart to have to leave you.  Especially with your father gone.”

 

Her cheeks had been wet with tears, and her mother had reached up a bony arm.  Her mother’s papery skin had touched her wet cheeks, which made only made her cry more.

 

 “There’s something I have to tell you, before I pass on,” her mother continued in her weak voice.  The student had tried to protest.  She didn’t want to think of her mother passing on.  Hope was her bread and water.  Hope was the only thing that kept her going.  How could her mother die?

 

Her father had been killed in the first Wizarding War when she was barely five.  If her mother died, she would have no one.  No one except muggle relations that she had never met.  After all, both her mother and father were muggleborn witches and wizards.  They both had magical abilities, but no one else in their family did.  These non-magical family members (that the Wizarding world called muggles) would never understand her.  Not the way her mother and father did.

 

 “Listen to me darling.  This is important,” her mother said, pulling her attention away from her distraught thoughts.  “It’s about your father - about how he died.  About how all of us almost died.”

 

 “The Death Eater raid?” she had asked her mother.  Her voice was tremulous, but it didn’t matter - her mother understood.  

 

The Wizarding War had been started by a powerful Dark Wizard.  The Dark Wizard was so powerful, so awful that to this day, people feared to say his name.  His loyal followers were called Death Eaters.  Their ideology included killing muggleborn witches and wizards.  They killed people like her mother and father.  People like herself.

 

 “Yes, darling,” her mother said gently.  “I hadn’t wanted to tell you this before - it would have been a burden to you.  But -” the unspoken words hung in the air.  ‘But now I’m going to die.’  The student was shaking her head, in silent denial.  Her breathing felt choked, and her shoulders shook with her fear and grief.  Her mother took her hand and squeezed it.  Her mother had so little strength left that her grip had no pressure.

 

 “The night of the raid -” Her mother’s gaze became distant and haunted.  “It happened in the middle of the night.  You were having nightmares, so I had left my bed to join you in your room.  We - your father and I - knew there was a danger to us.  The Death Eater raids had taken so many lives - so many of our friends -” Her mother’s voice broke.  The student brushed her thumb against the her mother’s knuckles.  It was a soothing and reassuring gesture.

 

 “As an auror for the Ministry of Magic, your father tried to be as prepared as possible.  He had a portkey made up for me.  He had one for himself as well.  But Death Eater Raids are never something you can predict.”  Her mother was silent for a moment, lost in the terrible past.  “I was woken up that night by the sound of screaming.  Your - your father’s screams.  They were torturing him.  Using the _Cruciatus_ curse.  I thought it was just a dream - a nightmare at first.  I hardly knew where I was.  But then I felt you by my side, saying ‘mummy, mummy I’m scared’ over and over.  I knew I had to protect you.  I had to get out.  But - I didn’t want to leave your father.  He -”  Her mother’s eyes were watery.  The girl understood.  Her mum and dad were soul mates.  Soul mates were supposed to be together.

 

 “I told you to hide in the wardrobe - you remember?” Her mother asked.  The student nodded.  The small space of the wardrobe had felt safe.  It was dark, and filled with soft clothes that smelled like the fragrant cleaning charms her mother used.

 

 “My wand was sitting atop your night stand - I was prepared to go help your father.  But then your bedroom door burst open.”  The student also remembered this part of the story.  She didn’t see who had come in, but she had remembered the bang of the door.  The shock of the sound had made her wet herself.  She remembered whimpering in fear, biting her knuckles so she wouldn’t cry out.  She had been only five.  She hadn’t fully understood was happening, but she knew it was Scary and Bad.  

 

 “I know you know most of this story, darling,” her mother sounded incredibly sad.  “I’m sorry to bring it up at a time like this.  But there is one thing I didn’t tell you.  The Death Eater - Oh darling, it was horrible.”  Her mother sighed, looking pained to bring up such dark memories.  

 

 “He stepped into the room, his wand pointing at me.  But your toys had been scattered on the floor - you used to be such a messy little thing.”  Her mother gave her a weak smile.  “He tripped, and his mask fell off.  I saw his face - he had been a student at Hogwarts - several years younger than me.  Those black eyes - blacker than midnight - And his face, as pale as the moon.  I thought I was going to die.  It’s strange, but the one other thing I remember was the way his hands kept shaking as he pointed his wand at me.  Maybe it was excitement.  I don’t know - I couldn’t look away from his wand.  He opened his mouth - I remember thinking ‘this is it.’  But then someone must have called him.  He looked away.  Then he backed out of the room and shut the door.  The rest you remember - I pulled you from the wardrobe, and used the portkey to get away.”

 

The silence that fell was heavy.  “Who was he, mum?” the student asked.  She wanted to know, but she was also afraid to know.

 

 “His name is Severus Snape.  Your Potions Professor.” Her mother’s voice was flat now.  There was a hardness in her eyes.

 

 “Professor Snape?  A Death Eater?  Mum, why didn’t you tell anyone?” the student demanded.  She felt shocked - the man had been teaching her for four years.  A Death Eater.  It was sickening!  She felt like there were newts crawling all over her skin.

 

 “Who would believe us?” her mother said, bitterly.  “Muggleborns like us - poor muggleborns at that.  No influence and power.  Yes, your father may have been an auror for the Ministry, but he had only been a rookie.  And Snape was protected by one of the most powerful wizards in the world.  Albus Dumbledore.”

 

The student paled.  “Professor Dumbledore?  Our headmaster?”  She didn’t want to believe it.  She couldn’t believe it.  It was terrible - too terrible to conceive.  How could the headmaster of Hogwarts be harbouring such a monster?

 

 “I’m sorry to burden you with this darling,” her mother said.  The older woman somehow looked smaller and paler than ever.

 

 “I’ll kill him,” the student said, her voice little more than a whisper.  “I’ll kill that disgusting Death Eater monster.”  Her mother squeezed her hand, pulling the student away from her hot rage.

 

 “Darling, listen to me.  In our flat, in my room - my dresser has a hidden compartment.  To open it, you need a key and a password  They key for it is in Gringotts Bank.  And the password to open it is ‘Justice.’  There are some potions and other things in there. Your father - well, as the war got worse, he would sometimes take things from the workplace.  Things that might be - useful.”  The student’s eyes widened as she considered her mother’s words.  Her father had taken contraband from work?  She had no idea of this.

 

 “I don’t believe that the Ministry will ever do justice by us.  We’ll have to take it in our own hands.  The things in that dresser - they will help you.  Just be careful darling - don’t do anything that could implicate you.  You’re bright - so bright.  Your father and I are so, so proud of you.”  Her mother’s eye’s fluttered shut.  Her breathing was strained.

 

 “I promise - we’ll have our justice,” the student said vehemently.  “I promise.”  Her mother’s eyes opened.  The older woman looked so tired, and she smiled at her daughter.  It was a sad smile.

 

 “I love you so much, darling.”

 

The student felt fresh tears spring from her eyes.  “I love you too, mum.”

 

When her mother died, she had gotten the keys to the family vault in Gringotts.  As her mother had said, they were a poor family.  Nonetheless, they still had some valuables that were worth locking away.  With the key in hand, she had returned to the flat where she and her mother had lived.  The dresser that her mother mentioned was an unassuming piece of furniture.  It was a pale wood, with little ornamentation.

 

She opened the secret compartment with trepidation.  There were seven bottles of potions, and various other unfamiliar devices.  Everything in the compartment included a tag with descriptions.  However, the descriptions were often vague.  There were labels like: ‘Unknown effects.  Possibly Protective Amulet’ or ‘Shield Potion.  May be unstable.’  She supposed that with illegal contraband, her father couldn’t have used the conventional routes to discover the items’ purposes.

 

Most of the items were defencive, rather than offensive items.  Only two items held any promise.  Both were potions.  One was labeled ‘Possibly petrifies or freezes targets.  Effects possibly permanent.  Tasteless, but large dose necessary’  The other was labeled ‘Uncertain.  Undetectable, tasteless potion.  Makes target highly vulnerable.  Effects may depend on individual.’

 

In the end, the student decided on the second potion.  While it would have been interesting to have Professor Snape frozen forever, she wanted him to suffer.  She wanted him vulnerable.  The only question was, how could she Professor Snape to drink the potion?  

 

There was one final potion that seemed like it might be of use.  The label read ‘Extremely powerful compulsion potion.  Possibly only works on non-humans.’  House elves were non-humans.  The student smiled, but her smile was the predatory smile of a wolf.  There was only one way to find out if the potion worked, and that was to try it.

 

That had been a year ago, and the potions were now shut away her school trunks.  The mysterious protective amulet was around her neck.  As the sixth year Hogwarts student listened to Professor Snape’s lecture, she felt a bubbling excitement that had nothing to do with potions.  The end of the school year was coming up.  That would be her time to strike.  Next year would be her Seventh and final year at Hogwarts.  And during that year, when he was under the effects of the vulnerability potion, she would make Professor Snape pay.

 

-o-

 

June 1991

 

Severus Snape, Potions Master and Professor at Hogwarts sat in a comfortable leather sofa in his personal chambers.  It was the end of the school year, and thank Merlin for that.  It meant that he would have at least two months of freedom away from the insufferable brats.  Although he was teacher, there was no question that he truly disliked children.  It was only due to the follies of his Death Eater past that he found himself in this position.  There wasn’t a day that went by that he didn’t regret becoming a Death Eater.  After all, being a Death Eater had caused him to lose the one thing that he loved most in this world.

 

On the other hand, he knew that his fate could be much worse.  Without Albus Dumbledore, the headmaster of Hogwarts, he would probably be imprisoned and rotting away in Azkaban.  The only Death Eaters that had escaped the fate of imprisonment were the ones that could buy their way out.  Rich purebloods with connections like Lucius Malfoy.  Severus was neither rich, well-connected nor a pureblood  Thoughts of that dreaded fortress sent a chill down his spine.  He pulled his thoughts away from Azkaban.  Dealing with infantile nitwits might not be his idea of an ideal job.  But it was better than prison.

 

Severus wasn’t a man to imbibe, but he felt that the end of (yet another) school year called for a stiff drink.  He had a bottle of Ogden’s Old Firewhiskey, just for the occasion.  He poured himself two fingers of the amber liquid.  It left a pleasant heat in his belly that soon spread out to his limbs.  He sat back in his sofa, his eyes drifting closed.  A sigh escaped his lips.  Just as the air left his lungs, so too did he let his worries flow out and away.

 

What would he do with his two months of freedom?  He had several experimental potions he was working on.  Some of his more successful potions earned him more royalties than his paycheque at Hogwarts.  Not enough to be considered rich, by any means.  But he made enough from his potions to be able to live a comfortable modest life.  If not for the debt that he felt he owed to Albus, he would tender his resignation.  As it stood, the chains of obligation held him in place.  

 

Perhaps he could use his newfound time to travel and stock up on rare ingredients.  He could always use a new gold cauldron as well.  Potion ingredients and books were his two great indulgences.  Aside from that, his galleons sat at Gringotts Wizarding Bank, untouched.  He could also used his time to catch up on the various Potions journals and periodicals that he did not have time for during the school year.

 

Severus hadn’t been drinking enough to be anywhere near drunk.  He wasn’t all that tired either.  And yet, his eyelids felt heavy, and his limbs felt weary.  His pleasant thoughts were sedating.  And though his chambers at Hogwarts were in the dungeons, there was a merry fire burning at the hearth.  It warmed his aching bones and made him feel like he was being caressed by soothing heat.  There was so much he could be doing: catching up on reading, tidying up his chambers, checking the stock of the school’s potion ingredients.  Instead, he fell asleep on his sofa.

 

-o-

 

Severus’s first thought when he woke up was: ‘This bed doesn’t feel right.’  It was smooth instead of scratchy.  It was narrow.  And he didn’t even have a pillow to rest his head on.  But at least his blanket was soft, which in itself was wrong.  In fact, that wasn’t all that was wrong.  The room smelled different - odd.  Where was the pervasive smell of alcohol and mustiness?  The pungent scent of the polluted river, and odor of unwashed clothes?  

 

He cracked his eyes open, his vision blurred by sleepiness.  He was expecting to see dark, ugly wallpaper in a small claustrophobic room.  Instead, he found himself in a vast space, with leather chairs, stone walls covered in tapestries, and a cheerful fireplace.  He sat up abruptly, noting that his ‘bed’ was in fact a leather sofa, and his ‘blanket’ was - some sort of dressing robes, perhaps?  They were rather big.  He was mortified to discover that under the baggy robes he was naked.  He peeked down, and saw that at least he was wearing underpants.  Underpants that weren’t even his size.  He tugged at the waist.  They were huge!  His ears burned with embarrassment.  Was he wearing someone else’s clothes?

 

Severus shook his head, and his lanky black hair swung around him.  This was no time to think of clothes.  He had to figure out where he was.  Where was his mother?  His father?  His last memory was of his father returning to the house drunk.  The stench of it had burned Severus’s eyes.  This was a common occurrence.  Given the choice, Tobias Snape would never be sober.  After tracking mud through the dingy entry way, his father then proceeded to scream at his mother Eileen for failing to have supper ready.  But Severus knew for a fact that she had made supper.  It was sitting in the oven, keeping warm.  Just because it hadn’t been set out at the table, that didn’t mean that supper hadn’t been made.

 

His mother had snapped at his father, her tongue as sharp and brutal as an executioner's axe.  Severus knew that this would only make things worse.  Eileen Snape was a proud woman.  No matter how many invectives his father threw at her, her black eyes retained their scornful fury.  But it never stopped there.  Tobias Snape had no tolerance for any impertinence.  That evening, Snape remembered Tobias lifting his arm up, before backhanding his mother.  There had been a sickening ‘crack’ as his hand connected with her face, and she had fallen back against the warped wooden kitchen cabinets.

 

But Tobias’s brutality never cowed Eileen.  As soon as he laid a finger on her, she’d start threatening him with all the magical hexes and curses she would throw at him.  She’d see him flayed alive.  She’d torture him with the _Cruciatus_ curse  She’d burn him alive.  She’d expel his entrails.   And yet she never did.  She didn’t even dare bring out her wand from wherever she hid it.  Perhaps because she knew that given the chance, Tobias Snape would snap it in a heartbeat.  And if he did that, then her spirit would truly be broken.

 

Severus remembered feeling hungry.  He remembered thinking that maybe, he should try and creep over to the oven.  If his parents were preoccupied with fighting, they might not notice him sneaking off with some food.  He felt guilty about leaving his mother, but his stomach clenched with angry insistence.  He needed to eat.  However, it was a risk.  Any move he made could catch Tobias’s eyes.  And once Tobias saw him, then he could be a target of his father’s drunken rage.  Yet he couldn’t spend the rest of the evening rooted to this spot on the kitchen floor.  

 

With practiced care, he edged backwards, trying to keep his movements unobtrusive.  The peeling linoleum floors made it easy to keep quiet.  All he had to do was slide backwards on his socks, though the holes in the bottom caused his bare feet to drag against the smooth and slightly tacky surface.  His eyes never left his father’s florid face.

 

Severus could navigate almost every inch of the house at Spinner’s End with his eyes closed.  But he failed to factor in kitchen chairs, which had been shifted around.  His heel hit the foot of the chair, and it scraped against the linoleum.  Severus froze.  The sound should have been indiscernible amidst his parents’ yelling.  But somehow, Tobias heard.  Tobias’s bloodshot eyes had fallen upon Severus.  His lip curled into a sneer.  Tobias stumbled towards him, his face reflecting a primal brutishness.  Alcohol had fueled Tobias’s bitterness towards life, and the man was determined to make his wife and son pay for his own unhappiness.

 

 “Where do you think you’re going, whelp?” Tobias had said in a way that was half snarled and half slurred.  He grabbed Severus by the front of his threadbare shirt.  Severus remembered hearing it rip.  He also remembered thinking that he would have to mend it later - the Snapes couldn’t afford new clothes.  The thoughts flashed by in only second, because a second later, Tobias had thrown him across the kitchen.  He must have hit his head and blacked out.  He did not remember anything else.

 

Nothing about that memory gave him a hint about where he was now.  Had his mother taken him to see a physician?  She usually only did that if something was broken.  And this place looked nothing like a physician’s office.  Maybe his father had killed him, he thought morbidly.  Maybe he had died, and this was the afterlife.  It wasn’t anything he imagined the afterlife would look like.

 

He wondered if he should call out for somebody.  This looked like somebody’s home.  But his survival-instincts screamed at him to stay quiet.  To be inconspicuous and not draw attention to himself.  With infinite care, he sat up, and touched his toes to the floor.  There was a pair of large shoes on the floor, made with a material he hadn’t seen before.  Some sort of animal-hide perhaps?  There were also socks on his feet.  They were much too big, and slipped down, pooling beneath his ankles.  He frowned.  Who had dressed him in these clothes?  It was fortunate that there was a fire to warm his feet.

 

Severus stood up, and to his dismay, his underpants slid off.  He clutched the robes tightly around him, like a big blanket.  His face burned with embarrassment.  He had no desire to let anyone see his lily white body.  Lily!  What had become of her?  Lily Evans was his best friend.  He had just spoken to her yesterday - they had a long conversation about attending Hogwarts.  They would both be attending their first year this September.  A smile crossed his face as he thought of his friend.  But thinking of her wouldn’t help him out of his current situation, and he pushed her from his mind.

 

He stood by the sofa, tilting his head as though trying to listen for the presence of others.  But all he could hear was the soft crackling of the fire.  Stepping out of the large socks, he edged away from the sofa, examining his surroundings with fascination.  Something about this room spoke to his very soul.  The tapestries on the walls did not display pictures, but rather, geometric shapes and hieroglyphs that drew his eyes.  The colours of the wall hangings were warm: earthy browns, burnt orange, amber and black.  In fact, most of the items in the room seemed to be earth tones, though there was also a lot of dark green.  In contrast, the walls were a cold, grey stone.  Whoever had decorated this room had earned his approbation.  He felt a spark of hope.  Perhaps he would like whoever lived here.  He just had to find out who that was.

 

Severus walked along the wall until he came to an open door.  He peered inside the room - it seemed to be a bedroom.  There was a large, four poster bed with dark green coverings.  It looked comfortable, and he felt envy stir in his heart.  His bed at Spinner’s end was lumpy and itchy.  He usually woke up aching and unrested.  He didn’t want to intrude in someone’s bedroom, so he backed away.  The large room had one other door, but this was was closed shut.  Severus didn’t dare to open it.  What if, at the moment he opened it, the owner of this room were to barge in?  They would probably beat him, like his father did.  Severus scowled at the thought.  

 

With one hand, he held his robes tight around him, and with his other hand, he rubbed the back of his head.  His father had thrown him hard against the wall.  It was strange that he didn’t even have a bump on the back of his head.  Maybe his mother had taken him to see a physician after all.  That didn’t explain how the bump had healed so fast.  Unless he had been unconscious for longer than he realized.  After circling the room, Severus returned back to the leather sofa and sat down.  On the side table, there was a small shot glass and a bottle of whiskey.  Severus wrinkled his nose in disgust.  At first, he thought he might like whoever lived her, but after seeing the whiskey, he changed his mind.  Severus didn’t think highly of drunkards.

 

There was another item on the side table - a book.  Severus loved reading.  The children at his muggle primary school didn’t like him.  They made fun of his mismatched (and ill-fitting clothes), and mocked his appearance.  He loathed that school.  The only thing school had taught him was how to sharpen his tongue.  His only friends there had been books.

 

When Severus was younger, his mother had home-schooled him.  She taught him things that were far more interesting than what they taught at the muggle school.  She told him about witches and wizards.  Eileen had explained a bit about wands, charms, herbology, transfiguration and potions.  She also told him about magical creatures.  He had found it engrossing.  But his father disagreed.

 

 “Stop filling the whelp’s head with that garbage!” Tobias had snarled.  “He needs to learn real things, like reading and maths.  Learning about fairies and unicorns doesn’t put food on the table.  You’re turning him into a nancy boy.”  Severus didn’t think Tobias actually cared about his education.  He hated the sight of his son and wanted him out of the house.  His mother had fought Tobias about it at first.  But in the end, she relented.  It took all her energy to defend herself.  After their arguments, she had no fight left for her only son.  But even if Severus was forced to go to a muggle school, his mother still taught him all about the magical world.  It was his heritage.  It was who he was.

 

Severus cast a quick glance around the room.  It didn’t seem like anyone was coming, so he picked up the book.   _Wandless Cursing: Advanced Techniques and Spell Creation_ , the title read.  Severus’s eyes lit up with interest.  His mother had only owned one magical book, and it was about spell theory.  There might have been others books long ago, but Eileen had never spoken about it.  Tobias would destroy anything that hinted at magic, if given the opportunity.

 

The book was heavy, and Severus set it on the armrest of the leather sofa.  With reverent care, he opened the cover, and gazed down at the beautiful, handwritten text.  Magical books were so much better than muggle books.  The book described many things that were far beyond Severus’s understanding.  Nonetheless, he was absorbed by what he read, and the world around him seemed to fall away.

 

  “Severus?” A disembodied voice called.  Severus nearly jumped out of his seat.  His black eyes darted around the room, trying to seek out the threat.  But there was no one in the room.

 

 “Oh dear,” the voice said.  “Severus, may I come through?”  Severus finally looked towards the fire, and was shocked to see the head of an old man watching him.  How had he not noticed the greenish hue to the flames?  The old man’s eyes were filled with concern.  He seemed to have a long crooked nose and an even longer beard.  Sitting atop his nose were a pair of half-moon spectacles.  This must be the Floo Network that his mother had told him about.

 

 “Who are you?” Severus asked warily.  The old man may have looked kind, but that didn’t mean that Severus trusted him.  Severus didn’t trust anyone (except maybe Lily).  Without conscious awareness, he pulled the blanket-like robes closer around himself, as though wanting protection.  His black eyes were slitted with suspicion.  The old man seemed to have on odd look on his face, but he soon schooled his features back to grandfatherly geniality.

 

 “My name is Albus Dumbledore,” the old man said gently.  “I am the headmaster of this school.  You are in Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry.”

 

 “H-Hogwarts?” Severus asked.  He was so amazed that he wasn’t even upset by his small stammer.  His eyes widened as he once again swept his eyes across the room.  Hogwarts!  He was in a castle!  He couldn’t wait to tell Lily about this.  She would be so jealous.  But not as jealous as her imbecilic and bitter sister, Petunia.

 

 “I’m going to come through, Severus,” the headmaster said, still using his gentle tone.  He spoke as though Severus were a skittish baby deer.  Severus stiffened with alarm.  But adults always seemed to do what they want anyway.  There was nothing he could do to stop the old man.  Severus frowned, and let his lanky hair fall across his face, like a shield.

 

There was a big burst of green as the headmaster entered the room.  The old man’s robes were a dizzying purple, accented with an orange trim.  His beard was tucked into his belt.  The headmaster peered at him through brilliant blue eyes that seemed to twinkle.  Severus found it unsettling.

 

 “So, you do not remember who I am, Severus?” the headmaster asked, maintaining a genial tone.

 

 “Unless it’s common for wizards to remember people they’ve never met, then I’d say no, I don’t remember you,” Severus replied acerbically.  He felt defensive, having this unfamiliar man’s attention on him.  The headmaster’s eye’s twinkled.  Severus scowled.

 

 “What’s the last thing you remember, dear boy?”

 

Severus’s scowl deepened.  ‘Dear boy?’  He didn’t think he cared for that epithet.  He considered lying, but something about the old man made him think it would be a bad idea.  “Well,” he said after a moment.  “My parents were fighting in the kitchen.  My dad grabbed my shirt and threw me against the wall, and I lost consciousness.  Then I woke up here.”

 

Black eyes met blue ones.  The headmaster hummed.  He looked past Severus and seemed to notice the bottle of whiskey on the side table.

 

 “May I take this?” the headmaster asked.

 

Severus shrugged.  “It’s not mine.”

 

The headmaster’s eyes twinkled.  “Indeed.  Tell me, Severus.  What year is it?”

 

 “The year?” Severus asked, incredulous.  “It’s 1971, of course.”

 

 “Ah.  So that would make you eleven, I believe.  You’ll be starting your first year at Hogwarts in September.”

 

Severus felt a rush of excitement.  “Yes, me and Lily.”  The headmaster’s expression changed.  There was a strange sadness, mingled with sympathy in his eyes.  Severus felt a twist in his gut.  Something was wrong.

 

 “Severus, I’d like you to come with me to see Madam Pomfrey in the Infirmary.”  The headmaster’s tone was now rather grave.  Taken aback, Severus nodded.  Perhaps a physician would have some answers to the conundrum of his situation.  When Severus stood, he was hyper aware of the awkwardness of his oversized robes.  Noticing his problem, Professor Dumbledore’s eyes twinkled, and he smiled with amusement.

 

  “We’ll have to do something about that, won’t we?” he asked.  He waved his wand, and the copious folds of fabric shrunk until the black billowy robes fit Severus’s frame.  He looked down at himself in awe.  It was both remarkable and yet painful.  Remarkable because of the nature of the magic.  Painful because he had spent so much of his childhood wearing ill-fitted, mismatched clothes.  If it had been so easy to fix, why hadn’t his mother done it for him?  He swallowed the lump of bitterness in his throat.

 

Severus trailed behind Professor Dumbledore as the headmaster led him towards the Hospital Wing.  He could not stop himself from gawking at everything he saw.  The dungeons themselves were rather dark and maze-like.  But once he was on the main floor, he felt like he was in an actual castle.  The stonework of the walls were ornate and elaborate.  There were columns, scrolls and gothic arches.  On the walls were portraits of all shapes and sizes.  His mother had told him about moving portraits, but this was the first time he had seen them for himself.  The figures in the portraits seemed to be as curious about him as he was about them.

 

There were corridors lined with suits of armour.  There were tapestries on the walls that depicted magical creatures (often doing odd things, like the tapestry of a group of dragons sitting down for afternoon tea).  Every so often, there would be a random door, and Severus wondered where it went.  The architecture of Hogwarts defied logic.  It was every bit as magical as he had hoped.  Some small part of him that was still child-like and innocent was enchanted.

 

The Hogwarts infirmary was a large, open room with high ceilings and bright windows that let in the golden sunlight.  There were a number of crisp white hospital beds in the infirmary, looking pristine and untouched.  From a door to the side, a kindly looking woman with grey hair and sharp blue eyes bustled forward.  Her eyes shifted from Professor Dumbledore to Severus, and her eyes widened.

 

 “S - Severus?” the matron said, her voice hesitant.  She looked back at the headmaster, as though needing confirmation.  The headmaster’s eyes twinkled, and he gave a slight nod.  However, Severus’s sense of unease only grew.  How did everyone here know him?  His mother had never mentioned that magic could allow you to know people you had never met.

 

 “Severus, can you tell me what happened?” the matron asked.

 

Severus flicked a glance up at the headmaster before returning his gaze to - what did the headmaster say her name was?  Madam Pomfrey?

 

 “What do you mean, what happened?” Severus asked, trying not to snap. “I just want to know how I got here.”

 

 “He doesn’t remember, Poppy.  Not anything,” Professor Dumbledore told the matron.

 

Madam Pomfrey’s eyes widened, and she looked back at Severus.  “Come along then, dear.”  With a gentle hand behind his back, the matron herded Severus towards one of the hospital beds.  He sat on the edge of the bed, his legs dangling.

 

 “I’m just going to use a few diagnosis spells on you.”  The matron smiled reassuringly, before waving her wand, and uttering the incantations.  Severus watched her with interest.  He could see lights coming from her wand, and felt light brush of magic.  It was so subtle that if he hadn’t been paying close attention, he wouldn’t have noticed it.  The matron said a few more spells, and then pursed her lips.  Professor Dumbledore, who was standing by her side, looked at her with raised eyebrows suggesting mild curiosity.

 

 “Severus seems to be a touch malnourished.  Otherwise, he is a perfectly normal eleven year old boy,” Madam Pomfrey said.  She appeared to be a bit dazed by the diagnosis she had just given.  “Perhaps we should Floo St. Mungo’s?  A specialist may help.”

 

 “Why would I need a specialist?” Severus asked suspiciously.  A specialist implied there was something wrong with him.

 

 “Oh, don’t worry dear.  There’s nothing wrong with you - aside from the odd - circumstance - ah Albus, I need to speak to you.”  The matron took the headmaster by the arm and pulled him away.  Severus watched them through slitted eyes.  There was something they weren’t telling him.  He was sure of it.  The headmaster and the matron spoke in hushed tones.  Severus felt a prickle of irritation, and glowered towards the two adults.  They paid him no heed.

 

Severus found himself wishing that he had brought that book with him.  His mother had mentioned wandless magic, but since she hadn’t been able to perform it herself, there had been little that she could tell him.  The idea of being able to curse without and wand was enticing.  A wolfish grin crossed his face as he imagined the things he could do to his father.  If he could learn to perform curses without a wand, Tobias Snape would never lay another finger on him (or his mother) again.  His fantasies of tormenting Tobias Snape kept him sufficiently entertained until the headmaster and Madam Pomfrey returned.

 

 “Severus,” said the matron.  “We’ve decided that it would be best to run some more tests.  You’ll have to go to St. Mungo’s for that.”  She glanced towards Dumbledore before turning her attention back to Severus.  “The headmaster will accompany you.”  Severus frowned but nodded.  He hoped that someone there could tell him what was going on.  Did his parents even know that he was here?  Maybe he could ask the headmaster if he could borrow an owl and send a letter to Lily.  She would want to know everything he could tell her about Hogwarts.

 

Severus had never been to St. Mungo’s Hospital for Magical Maladies and Injuries before.  His mother had always taken him to see muggle doctors.  However, once the novelty of experience wore off, he found himself vexed with the tedium.  The healers wanted to run a barrage of tests.  The first two were interesting.  After that, it got progressively more tiring.  

 

For whatever reason, Professor Dumbledore had brought the bottle of whiskey along.  Could the headmaster be an inebriate?  Severus hadn’t actually seen him drink from the bottle.  He did hand it off to one of the healers at some point, but Severus didn’t hear what they had to say.   By the end of the day, he was relieved to be back at Hogwarts.

 

After stumbling out of the Floo, and brushing the soot off his robes, Severus turned towards Dumbledore.  “When am I going home?” he asked.  It wasn’t that he was eager to see his mother and father.  But he did want to see Lily.  She wouldn’t believe all he had to tell her.

 

 “Ah - you’ll be staying here for now, my boy,” the headmaster said gently.  

 

Severus frowned.  He liked Hogwarts, but he didn’t understand why he was here.  “Can I at least borrow an owl?  So I can write to Lily?”

 

The strange sadness returned to the headmaster’s eyes.  Once again, there was that wrench in Severus’s gut.  “What are you not telling me?” Severus asked, through narrowed eyes.

 

  “I’m afraid I cannot tell you yet, Severus,” the headmaster said.  “You were always too perceptive, by far.  Would you like to see the library?”

 

It was an obvious ploy to distract him, but Severus could sense that the headmaster would not divulge anything further.  He might not be happy with the situation, but Severus knew he couldn’t say ‘no’ to the library.  Especially Hogwart’s magical library.

 

It was over a week before they they told Severus anything.  During that period of time, Severus explored passages and towers of Hogwarts, or he was in the library.  Being away from his parents did not trouble him a great deal.  But it bothered him to not be able to speak to Lily about his experiences.  The meals in the Great Hall delighted him.  The Great Hall was a vast open space, and the ceiling was charmed to look like the sky.  His mother had told him all about it, but hearing about something and seeing it were two different matters.  It was strange to have the few staff members eating together in such a vast space.  But it was hard to envision the Great Hall being filled with students.  He found the food (that magically appeared on the golden plates) to be delicious.  Much better than anything his mother ever made.  And he received three meals a day!  Three!  Unfortunately, he was also forced to drink nutritional potions with each meal, but when he learned of their purpose, he forced them down willingly.

 

Late in the week, he had managed to find the Owlery during his explorations.  Excited, he had borrowed parchment and a quill, and penned a long letter to Lily.  However, when he attempted to get the owls to deliver the letter, they had looked at him with blank, blinking eyes.  Some of the owls wouldn’t leave their perch.  Some flew in a small circle and returned back with the same letter.  His attempts to prod them had only earned him irritated nips.  Perhaps the owls couldn’t find a muggle address.  He wasn’t sure - it didn’t seem to make sense.

 

Anytime that he saw any of the staff (all of whom had known his name), they had given him searching looks, as though waiting for something to happen.  He had met Professor Minerva McGonagall (the Head of Gryffindor and the Transfiguration teacher); Professor Filius Flitwick (the Head of Ravenclaw and the Charms teacher); Professor Sybill Trelawney (the Divination teacher, whom Severus was convinced was completely daft); and Rubeus Hagrid (the Keeper of the Keys and Grounds).  Professor McGonagall tended to look troubled and pursed her lips whenever she saw him.  Professor Flitwick’s eyes sparkled with laughter, as though he was amused at some silent joke.  Severus did his best to steer clear of Professor Trelawney.  As for Hagrid, his reaction was the most interesting of all.

 

When Severus had first encountered the Keeper of the Keys, the first word from the man’s mouth had been: Profess’r!  They had been in the Great Hall at the time, and Severus had caught Professor Dumbledore giving Hagrid a warning glance.  The gigantic Keeper of the Keys, with his shaggy hair and wild beard had snapped his mouth shut.  Severus had later discovered that Hagrid was a half-giant, which explained the man’s immense proportions.

 

Still, Hagrid’s reaction had been telling.  The other professors had looked at Severus with surprise, but they were all quick to guard their reactions.  However, Hagrid was far too open to be able to hide anything.  Hagrid did not strike Severus as someone capable of duplicity.  If Severus did not receive answers soon, he decided that he would find a way to get them out of Hagrid.

 

That week Severus had been sitting at one of the tables in the library, engrossed in book on Potions theory and preparation techniques.  He was reading about the difference between slicing and chopping, when he felt a presence at his elbow.  Looking over, he was greeted by the sight of lime green and yellow robes.  He didn’t have to look up to know that it was Professor Dumbledore who stood by his side.  Still, it was polite to look people in the eyes, so he glanced upwards.

 

 “Hello Severus.  It’s a beautiful day,” the headmaster said, smiling affably.  “I was thinking we could take a stroll in the courtyards and enjoy a nice chat.”

 

It was the first time the headmaster had suggested a walk.  For all his friendliness, the headmaster wasn’t the most sociable of wizards.  Severus was sure that the ‘nice chat’ would be more than just small talk about the weather.  Nodding his head, Severus folded the book closed and tucked it under his arm.  Severus followed the headmaster out the library and through the corridors.  Dumbledore kept up a steady stream of insipid questions as they walked (“How do you like Hogwarts so far?”  “Your quarters are comfortable?”  “Have you spoken to many of the portraits yet?”)  In reply, Severus gave colourless answers.

 

Taking one of the side doors, the headmaster led him out to one of the courtyards, ringed by the tall stone walls of the building.  It was a lush June day.  All around him, plants were in bloom, and the foliage of the trees was a vibrant green.  There were grassy lawns, and a paved pathway and central area.

 

  “Have you noticed anything unusual in the past week?”  Dumbledore asked.  He used the same good-natured tone of voice, that Severus almost didn’t notice that his question was no longer a trivial one.

 

Severus was about to give a flat, meaningless answer, but then he snapped his mouth closed, looking up at the headmaster with suspicion.  Dumbledore’s blue eyes twinkled.  Severus pursed his lips.  It was hard to escape the feeling that the headmaster was toying with him.

 

 “Other than the way the Professors all appear to know me, no,” Severus admitted.  “I don’t understand why I’m still here.  I like Hogwarts.  It’s preferable to our place at Spinner’s End.  But I can’t make heads or tails of it.  Did something happen to my parents?”  Though he was only eleven, Severus’s black eyes were piercing.  Dumbledore blinked, looking rather owlish for a few brief seconds.

 

 “Your test results came back from St. Mungo’s,” Dumbledore said thoughtfully.  Severus wanted to snap that it was rude to answer questions with another question.  However, he was curious about his results, so he kept his mouth shut.  He wasn’t even certain what they had been trying to test.

 

 “Someone had slipped an unknown potion into your firewhiskey.”  Severus was about to protest that he didn’t drink whiskey, whether fire or any other sort.  But something about the headmaster’s expression told him to keep quiet.

 

 “The potion is still being analyzed in a lab, but it seems as though its effects are permanent.  They are still trying to determine some of the ingredients.  There were two ingredients discovered that are extremely rare.  And one that we have never seen before.  The potion is created to interact with the drinker’s magic, and the effects differ for each person.  Ah, but listen to me prattling on.  I’m sure you don’t wish to hear about such things, do you, my boy?”  Dumbledore gave him a cheery smile.  Severus felt his irritation rising.  Just as the headmaster was starting to get into something interesting, he cut himself off.  Severus got the sense that he was doing it on purpose.

 

 “Where was I?” the headmaster continued, before Severus could get a word in.  “Ah - the effects of the potion.”  Professor Dumbledore looked down at Severus.  His blue eyes looked somehow more piercing through the half-moon spectacles.  His expression had become serious.  Severus wanted - no he needed the answers.  But he also had the sense that he wouldn’t want to hear the answers.  He felt his palms go clammy.  Meeting the headmaster’s gaze, Severus nodded for him to continue.

 

 “I cannot say what the potion would do to anyone else, but in your case, Severus, it seems to have de-aged you.  There are potions and spells that can temporarily or permanently affect a person’s age, but these potions usually only affect the physical body.  In your case, the potion has affected your mind as well.  It has made you an eleven year old, both in body, mind and spirit.”  Dumbledore scanned Severus’s face, trying to gauge his reaction, but Severus maintained his composure.  He was still analyzing the headmaster’s words in his mind.  The Headmaster had not yet revealed one of the most important details:  how much had he been de-aged?

 

 “What year is it?” Severus asked, his voice flat.

 

 “It’s 1991.  You are - you were -”

 

 “Thirty-one,” Severus cut in, his voice little more than a whisper.  His quick mind had done the calculation.  Dumbledore nodded, still grave and watchful.  Severus’s mind was a whirl - what could have happened in in the twenty years that he had missed?  What had he done with this life?  Did he have a job?  Friends?  A family even?  Thoughts of his family made him think of his parents.  What could have become of them?  And Lily!  If he was thirty-one, then so too was she.  What had happened to her?  Knowing Lily, she would be doing great things.  Perhaps she was married.  Could he have married Lily?  His eleven year old self had never contemplated marriage.  It was something that older people did, and it had no bearing on his life.  But he wouldn’t have minded being married to Lily.  He wanted to know everything, but what did he want to know first?  About himself, his parents, or Lily?

 

 “Tell me about what I was like,” Severus said.  Though he was only eleven, and was often abused, his mother had instilled in him a sense of pride.  He was a wizard, and wizards and witches had a long and proud lineage.  Thus, it was not difficult for Severus to take on a dictatorial tone.

 

 “You are - were a teacher here at Hogwarts,” Professor Dumbledore began.  Severus’s eyes widened in surprise.  Him?  A teacher?  His gaze drifted to a tall archway as his thoughts turned to the harried teachers at the muggle primary school.  Severus’s face scrunched up in distaste.  His expression must have amused the headmaster.  When Severus looked back up at him, he noticed that the twinkle had returned to Dumbledore’s eyes.

 

 “Yes, you received your Potions Mastery when you were twenty.  You were one of the youngest in centuries to attain that designation.  You began teaching here at Hogwarts in 1981,” the headmaster continued.  Severus’s frown deepened.  He felt a glow of accomplishment at having received his Potions Mastery at such a young age.  But to have begun teaching only a year later?  Why didn’t he hire himself to a private lab to make experimental potions?  His eleven year old self thought that that choice seemed more logical (and appealing).

 

Severus waited for the headmaster to continue, but the headmaster had fallen silent.  Severus’s black eyes met the headmaster’s blue ones, and Severus’s expression was expectant.  The sparkle of humour had vanished and the Headmaster was once again a mix of thoughtful and serious.  What was Dumbledore hiding?  Surely there had been more to Severus’s life than being a teacher.  If Severus’s future-self had done nothing with his life other than teach, Severus would hex that future-self until he couldn’t sit down any more.  The idea of achieving so little in his life was disturbing.

 

  “Did I have a - family?” Severus asked.  Perhaps if he had been busy with a family, that would explain why he had done nothing more than teach.  He thought back to Mr. and Mrs. Evans - Lily’s parents.  They had had a loving marriage, and had loved both their daughters.  Whenever he had visited, they had always treated him with kindness (and plied him with food).  It wouldn’t have been so bad if he had a marriage like the Evans.  He could take pride in something like that.  However, his thoughts leapt ahead.  If he had a family - Merlin’s beard!  They’d be fully grown, while he was little more than a child.  It was a disquieting notion.

 

 “Ah - well, you were unmarried Severus,” the headmaster said.  Severus found that to be both a relief and a disappointment.  A relief that he did not have an adult wife waiting for him.  A disappointment that - well - he had no one.  For some reason, the disappointment felt heavier than the relief.

 

 “What about Lily?” If he hadn’t gotten married, had Lily?  It was only because Severus had been watching the headmaster closely that he saw the pang of sadness that flashed in the old man’s eyes.  But the look of grief had vanished with the same swiftness as it had appeared.  Severus felt like there was a band around his chest, constricting him so that he could not breath.  What could have happened to Lily?  His question had connoted marriage.  But he got the sense that the headmaster was thinking about more than just whether or not Lily was married.

 

 “There had been a war,” Dumbledore began, his voice heavy.  The words were enough that Severus knew where this was leading.  But he needed to hear confirmation.  “She and her husband were killed.  They were survived by their son - Harry Potter.”  Severus felt that he had received a blow, and he must have staggered because he felt the headmaster’s grip on his arm.  The thoughts of the husband and son fell to the wayside.  Lily was dead.  Lily - his Lily - was dead!  Severus thought he heard the headmaster apologize.  But the words had sounded like they were at the other end of a long tunnel.  He felt like he just seen her a few weeks ago.  The memory was vibrant and bright - her flashing red hair, her lively green eyes.  Her mischievious smile.  Her uninhibited laughter.  Her enthralled expression as he told her about magic.  Their attempts at controlling their magic without wands.  He didn’t want to believe that she was gone.

 

The headmaster’s words broke his train of thoughts.  “- lot to take in.  I’ll take you to the infirmary.”

 

 “No!” Severus exclaimed, wild-eyed with shock and grief.  He felt like he was on the verge of collapse, but he needed to know more.  “What - what happened?”  His voice sounded broken and small.  No matter how bad Tobias Snape’s abuses had been, he had never managed to bring Severus to this degree of devastation.

 

The headmaster’s blue eyes were troubled.  He was unsure of whether to burden the young Severus with this knowledge.  But Severus was resolute.  Dumbledore felt his heart breaking for the young boy.  Severus - the adult Severus - had already experienced so much pain in his life.  It struck Dumbledore as unjust to inflict more pain on Severus’s younger self.  “There was a powerful Dark Wizard named Voldemort.  His followers were known as Death Eaters.  Their main tenets were blood purity and magical superiority.  They hated muggles and muggleborns.”  

 

Severus’s breath hitched.  Lily had been a muggleborn.  Severus did not care for muggles and he was indifferent to their plight.  But Lily was different.  His hands were tightly fisted, clutching at his black robes.  He felt the poisonous vines of hatred sprouting in his heart towards Voldemort and his Death Eaters.

 

 “Lily and James - her husband - fought on the side against Voldemort and the Death Eaters.  During the war, a prophecy had been made.  The prophecy stated that child with the power to vanquish Voldemort would be born.  Lily was with child at the time,” the headmaster continued.

 

Severus could already see where this was heading.  Hearing it spoken aloud only amplified the horror and reality of it.  His hatred for Voldemort grew, until his entire body trembled with the need for vengeance.

 

 “Lily and James went into hiding after Harry was born.  But they were betrayed, and Voldemort found them.  He killed both Lily and James, but when he attempted to kill Harry, the killing curse rebounded and destroyed his physical body.”

 

Severus’s brow furrowed as he took in the Headmaster’s words.  The great Dark Wizard was defeated - by a baby?  And why had Dumbledore said that Voldemort’s physical body had been destroyed?  Why not just say that he had been killed by his own killing curse?  His mother had told him all about the unforgivable curses when he was a child.  These were curses that could penetrate magical shields.  There was no defence against them, aside from not being hit.  His quick mind absorbed the fact that somehow, a baby had miraculously survived the killing curse.

 

 “Don’t underestimate Voldemort, my boy,” the headmaster said, catching Severus’s scowl.  There was a hard, iron edge to the headmaster’s voice, and Severus looked up at him in surprise.  “His physical body may be gone, but I don’t believe him to be dead.  Only waiting and biding his time.”

 

The implication sent a chill running down Severus’s spine.  So not only had the baby survived the killing curse, but in a way, Voldemort had as well.  The headmaster had fallen silent, but his expression had softened.  Severus was still in a state of emotional shock from all that he had learned.  

 

 “Did - did I try and help Lily?” Severus asked, timorously.  He wanted to think that married or not, he would have tried to protect Lily.  But he wasn’t certain - after all, there were times that he didn’t stand up for his mother while his father was beating her.  But if he had tried to help Lily, that was some small thing that he could hold on to, at least.  An even deeper sadness flashed in the headmaster’s eyes, and Severus felt a horrible sense of sickness suffusing through his gut.

 

 “You did in the end,” Dumbledore replied, and his voice was both quiet and heavy.  In the end?  Had he been an indifferent bystander in the war?  Or - No.  It couldn’t be.  He wouldn’t have been on the other side, opposing Lily, would he?  He wasn’t aware of it, but he was shaking his head, panicked denial stamped on his youthful face.  Severus’s eyes were wide but unseeing.  The headmaster was silent, and eventually Severus looked up at him.  His black eyes were an abyss of despair.

 

 “Tell me,” Severus said, his words both a command and a plea.

 

The depth of pain in the headmaster’s eyes mirrored Severus’s.  “You had heard the seer as she made the prophecy about Harry.  When you discovered that it was about Lily, you came to me and asked me to save her.”

 

Severus was horrified.  Had he been such a coward?  Had he really stood aside in the shadows, and done nothing until that moment?  And it hadn’t even helped.  He hadn’t been able to save Lily. And now she was dead.  The hatred he felt for Voldemort turned towards himself.

 

 “No, Severus,” Dumbledore said firmly, as if reading his thoughts.  “You are not to blame for this.  Voldemort is the true monster, and it was he who uttered the curse that took her life.  You are not responsible for his actions.”

 

Severus’s self-hatred subsided by a small degree, but he still felt terrible.  He wished he could go back in time - that he had done more for her.  “I - I need to be alone for a while,” Severus stammered.  The headmaster nodded, placing a sympathetic hand on Severus’s shoulder before leaving him to himself.

 

Severus walked, but he had no sense of where he was going.  His steps took him back to his chambers in the dungeon.  It occurred to him now that these were his rooms - or at least, the rooms of the adult Severus Snape.  And the things in the room were his things.  The artifacts of his old life.  A life teaching children.  A life with no family.  Did he even have friends?

 

He entered the chamber and sunk onto the leather sofa, his elbows on his knees, and his hands clutching his greasy hair.  The sense of loss he felt was indescribable.  It hadn’t just been Lily that he lost.  It was himself.  He hadn’t even asked Dumbledore about his parents.  A creeping suspicion entered his mind - why hadn’t he been sent to his parents?  The fact that he had been kept here at Hogwarts, instead of sent to Spinner’s End - puzzle pieces began to fall into place.  He felt a cold certainty at that moment.  His parents were dead.  He was at Hogwarts because there was no home to return to.  There was truly nobody.

 

His agile mind began to consider other things that he had not asked the headmaster in his moment of shock.  Anything was better than thinking about how Lily was gone.  Gone forever.  Gone beyond his reach.  He considered how he had been an adult before drinking a potion  - where, then was his wand?  Severus also thought that he had detected affection in the headmaster’s eyes as he looked at him.  Had they been friends?  Is that why Severus had chosen to become a teacher?  Severus frowned.  He couldn’t imagine choosing such an awful career based on just friendship.

 

And what had become of Lily’s son?  What had Dumbledore said his name was?  Harry Potter.  What of him?  Was he staying with relatives?  On Lily’s side, there were the Evans and Petunia.  He couldn’t imagine Petunia taking in the child.  The notion of that sour girl raising a child made his skin crawl.  But at least the Evans were loving and kind people.

 

Severus couldn’t bear to remain trapped with his own spiraling thoughts.  Instead, he made his way to the library.  It was 1991.  He had twenty years of history to catch up on.


	2. Chapter 2

As the summer progressed, the bleeding wound of Severus’s grief started to heal. The pain he felt was still immeasurable, but it was no longer the same keen-edged intensity. He did eventually get confirmation from Dumbledore that his parents had passed on. Tobias had drank himself to death. And his mother Eileen - Severus’s insides twisted with sharp pain at the thought. Eileen had been beaten to death by Tobias. If Tobias wasn’t already dead, Severus would kill him himself.

Eileen hadn’t been the best of mothers. But she had taught him about magic, and had inculcated him with the sense of pride of being a wizard. Though she was a Snape in name, she was Prince at heart. The Prince’s were an old and distinguished wizarding family. After knowing what Tobias had done, Severus found that he could no longer think of himself as a Snape. He was a Prince. 

The headmaster also gave Severus his wand, which Dumbledore had found in the crease of Severus’s leather sofa (or so he claimed). When Severus held it, his whole body seemed to hum happily, and sparks had shot out the tip of the wand. It was like meeting an old friend. Sadly, Severus wasn’t permitted to use it over the summer. But he always kept it on hand, touching it absently for reassurance.

Severus had read every book that he could get his hands on about recent history. The scope of the Wizarding War had been devastating. The more that Severus read about Voldemort (who was awkwardly known as He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named) the more Severus’s hatred grew. In truth, the idea of killing muggles didn’t seem that awful. He had hated everyone at his muggle primary school, and he had also hated Tobias. Consequently, his opinion of muggles was low. Interestingly, in contrast to Dumbledore’s words, most of the Wizarding World believed Voldemort to be dead.

As for Harry Potter, the boy was seen as a great Hero. Severus wasn’t sure how he felt about that - Harry had been a baby when the killing curse had backfired. It was unlikely that the boy had remembered what had happened. Harry’s actions had probably not even been deliberate. It seemed more like some accident of chance. Severus discovered that James Potter (whom Lily had married) had been a pureblood wizard. But none of the books knew where Harry was. If the boy had been staying with the Potters, wouldn’t this be a well known fact?

Severus’s curiosity led him to ask Professor Dumbledore about it. He discovered that Harry was staying with muggle relatives. Severus also learned that the Evans were dead. Which only meant one thing - and this one thing made his blood run cold. The baby had been raised by Petunia. He found himself hoping and wishing that Petunia had undergone a personality change by the time Harry was left at her doorstep. Otherwise, he couldn’t imagine Harry having a pleasant childhood. Petunia has a girl had been such a shrew. Petunia as a woman - Severus didn’t even want to imagine it.

More and more, Severus found himself thinking about Harry Potter. With the massive library, there was plenty to occupy Severus’s time and thoughts. He read everything he could get his hands on to advance his understanding of magical theory (though he was most strongly drawn to Potions). And the Dark Arts. One would think that his hatred of Voldemort would have driven him away from the Dark Arts, but Severus had a desperate desire to harm the people he hated. The more he learned about curses and hexes, the better he could imagine tormenting Voldemort and the Death Eaters who followed him.

But despite all the wonderful knowledge at his fingertips, Severus couldn’t help thinking about Harry. Harry was all that was left of Lily. Would he be like her? He had seen a photo of the baby in one of the history books, and had read numerous descriptions. The descriptions were limited to Harry’s physical appearance though. Lightening bolt scar on his forehead. Black hair like his father. A face that resembled James Potter. But green eyes. Green eyes like Lily.

It had excited Severus to learn that Harry was his age. It meant that they would go to Hogwarts together. He found himself imagining a black-haired boy with Lily’s eyes and Lily’s personality. In his childish fantasies, he would imagine regaling Harry with all his knowledge about the magical world, and Harry would listen to him with rapt fascination, just like Lily had. And though he would admit it to no one, he harboured a secret hope that they could be friends. Muggles hadn’t liked him. But Lily had. And maybe Harry would too.

The Boy-Who-Lived (as they called Harry Potter) was famous. But no one knew where he was (except the Headmaster, and now Severus). And if he could somehow be the friend of someone so famous (and someone who might be just like Lily) - well, it was worth imagining. More than that, it gave Severus a sense of hope. After all the grief and pain he had felt (and still felt), he needed this small thread to cling on to. He needed something to look forward to.

At some point in time, Professor Dumbledore had also informed Severus that it would be a good idea to create a new name for himself. Severus Snape had been a professor at Hogwarts. There were students coming back to Hogwarts in September who would know that name. Severus had learned that his adult-self had been a strict disciplinarian. If his students discovered that he was one of them, he could be vulnerable to their bullying.

His mother had chosen the name ‘Severus’ because she had wanted to give him a strong, traditional wizard’s name. It was with these thoughts in mind that he deliberated a new name for himself. After much research, he settled on the name Callidus. The name meant ‘cunning, clever and astute.’ The Prince’s had been proud Slytherins, and Severus (now Callidus) thought it was a fitting name.

Eileen Snape had told Severus/Callidus a bit about the four Houses at Hogwarts. But most of her descriptions had been limited to Slytherins. He found himself interested in the other Houses: Gryffindor, Hufflepuff and Ravenclaw. He was aware that Slytherins and Gryffindors were rivals. Gryffindors were considered brave and daring (or as Eileen put it, rash and impulsive). Hufflepuffs were hardworking and loyal. And Ravenclaws valued intelligence and wisdom. 

But to Severus/Callidus, Slytherins had the best traits of all. Slytherins were resourceful, cunning, and ambitious. Slytherin’s valued self-preservation (which was just common sense - what kind of lackwit wouldn’t value self-preservation). And Slytherins valued House unity. 

Once the Professors at Hogwarts had learned of his fate, their attitudes had changed. In some ways, they were more relaxed towards him. In other ways, they seemed more strict (especially Professor McGonagall.) It had taken them a while to get used to calling him Mr. Prince instead of Mr. Snape. And they all seemed to like his new name.

“Callidus Prince. It suits you,” Professor McGonagall had said, breaking into a rare, approving smile. For some reason, making the strict professor smile had made him glow with pride. Most of the professors maintained their distance from Severus/Callidus. But the Keeper of the Keys, Hagrid, was different.

Somehow, Hagrid had gotten the notion of taking Callidus under his wing. He often invited him to his hut for tea. Hagrid’s hut was a small wooden cabin that was located at the edge of the Forest. Callidus had been warned by the headmaster that the Forest was dangerous, and had taken care to avoid it. But Hagrid spoke of the forest as though it were his personal backyard (and in a way, it was.) Hagrid had also taken to calling him ‘Cal.’ Callidus wasn’t sure how he felt about that.

Hagrid had been at Hogwarts for a long time, and Callidus found himself enjoying the half-giant’s colourful anecdotes. But Hagrid loved talking about magical creatures more than anything else. Callidus had never had a strong interest in magical creatures (aside from their use as potion ingredients). But Hagrid’s passion was infectious. Hagrid also seemed to be passionate about Harry Potter (“A true hero, that lad. I took him from the ruined house myself after You-Know-Who tried ter kill’em”), Dumbledore’s virtues (“the greatest headmaster Hogwarts has ever had”) and Gryffindors (“Dumbledore was a Gryffindor.”)

Callidus and Hagrid ended up having some heated debates about the merits of Slytherin. It was fortunate that Hagrid could so easily brush off Callidus’s sharp tongue. But Hagrid seemed inclined to think that Slytherins were synonymous with Dark Wizards.

“If that were true, why not just use the killing curse, anytime someone got sorted into Slytherin? Save the rest of the Wizarding world a lot of trouble,” Callidus had snapped.

“Er - I wouldn’t go tha’ far,” Hagrid had replied, bewildered.

“Besides, my mother was a Slytherin,” Callidus had said, stubbornly. That, at least, had pinkened Hagrid’s ears.

“Well, they’re not all bad, I suppose,” Hagrid had replied with great reluctance.

The summer passed by in a way that was both fast and slow. Slow because grief seemed to drag out time. Fast because there was so much to learn and do. Callidus had been given a Hogwarts acceptance letter (freshly written out, because the special quill that recorded the name of every magical child had registered his birthday as being on January ninth, 1960). Though he was already at Hogwarts, the letter (delivered to him at breakfast by a post owl) had given him a thrill of excitement. It made everything seem more real. But even better news had been delivered by Hagrid. 

“I’ll be takin’ yeh ter town, get yer books n’ supplies n’ all that. But firs’ we’ve got ter see about Harry. He hasn’t bin receivin’ his Hogwarts letters and the headmaster asked me ter check up on him,” Hagrid had said, in his jovial way.

“Harry?” Callidus had asked. It was not an uncommon muggle name.

“Harry Potter,” Hagrid had replied, a wide grin peeking through his immense beard. Callidus felt his heart skip a beat. Could he really be so lucky? Could this really be real? Merlin! But - but what if Harry didn’t like him? It was one thing to imagine Harry in his head. It was a different thing altogether to be faced with the real Harry Potter. Callidus thought of the way the muggle children had mocked him. They made fun of his greasy hair and his mismatched, ill-fitting clothes. But Lily never had. Furthermore, he had clothes that fit now. The clothes his adult-self had worn had all been shrunk down to fit him. 

On the day that it was time to depart, Callidus was a bundle of nerves. Dumbledore had informed him that he had a vault at Gringotts. But Dumbledore did not have the key, and he did not know where adult-Severus had put it. Fortunately for Callidus, the goblins who ran the bank would be able to identify him through other, magical means. Callidus had put his school supply list in the pocket of his robes, fearing that his sweaty hands would leave the parchment damp. He kept wiping his hands on his robes, but they remained cold and clammy. 

Callidus had given his shoulder-length hair several rinses that morning, wanting to make a good impression on Harry Potter. But he had very fine hair that was prone to greasiness. It might look alright for half a day (or if he was lucky, a full day). But before long, it would be greasy again. It felt stupid, worrying about his appearance. But the mocking epithet ‘manky grease-head’ echoed in his mind. He was glad to no longer have to go back to that horrible muggle school.

Callidus had also discovered that they were going to meet Harry on his birthday. He didn’t know Harry, but still felt like he ought to bring him something. From his chambers, he found a black pyramid sitting by his bedside table. He had learned that if he focused his magic, the pyramid would change from black to purple. The more magic he was able to focus into the pyramid, the more the colour change, from purple to blue, then blue to almost green. He had a feeling that if he put enough magic into it, it would turn red. He didn’t know if the item was rare or common, but it was small and interesting, and he thought Harry might like it. He didn’t have a box to put it in, so he just put it in his pocket. 

As for Hagrid, the half-giant had baked Harry a chocolate cake. Callidus had thought it was wonderful, and he felt a small twinge of envy. His mother had made him a cake once, when he was young. But more often than not, he got nothing for his birthday. His parents couldn’t afford anything. Hagrid had slipped the cake box in the inside pocket of his black overcoat. Callidus wondered how Hagrid would prevent the cake from being squashed. But the half-giant was unconcerned. Callidus wish he could be half so calm.

“How are we travelling?” Callidus asked Hagrid. He hadn’t yet experienced magical travel (although his adult-self obviously had). His mother had told him a bit about it. Hagrid had told Callidus that he had been expelled during his school days and wasn’t permitted to use magic. That would rule out apparating. Floo maybe? No, they were going to a muggle residence. That wouldn’t work. Perhaps they would be using brooms. Callidus had never flown on a broom before, and the idea made him queasy. He was nervous enough - having to fly on a broom was more than he could bear for one day.

“Ah, the thestrals’ll take us,” Hagrid replied with a bright beaming smile. Callidus felt the blood rush from his face. His sallow complexion became even paler. His mother had told him about Thestrals. They were invisible to those who had not seen death, and were considered omens of evil. But now Callidus understood why Hagrid had suggested a warm coat.

“Thestrals?” Callidus echoed weakly. “Are the beasts even safe?”

Hagrid nodded, unable to contain his enthusiasm but he had noticed Callidus’s pallor. “Clever creatures, they are. Don’t worry, they aren’ dangerous. They jus’ got a bad reputation because of the death thing.”

Callidus wasn’t at all reassured. However, his desire to meet Harry Potter was strong enough to overcome his nerves. Callidus followed Hagrid towards the paddock. The half-giant pointed out the various creatures on the way, but the Callidus only listened with half an ear. Hagrid pointed out the heard of thestrals, but they were were invisible to him.

Callidus’s breathing was shallow and his heart hammered in his chest. He felt disconnected from his body as the half-giant lifted him up and placed him on the back of the immense, invisible creatures. It was bizarre to see his feet dangling off the ground, while feeling the bony body of a magical creature beneath him.

“Hold on to the mane, now,” Hagrid instructed him. “An’ whatever you do, don’ let go.” Callidus reached towards the air, and felt the hairs of the invisible beast. He gripped at the mane, hoping his sweaty palms wouldn’t cause him to slip. Hagrid walked away from him and climbed atop another invisible beast.

“Off we go then,” Hagrid called out cheerfully. As soon as Callidus felt the thestral move, he squeezed his eyes shut. There was something nauseating about riding atop an invisible animal. An invisible animal that could fly.

Once they were up in the air, Callidus dared to open his eyes for a brief moment. The view was incredible - mountains and trees - but the experience was also rather horrifying. It was also strange to see the half-giant looking as though he were floating on nothing. The thestrals flew so fast that the wind was deafening. The speed was enough to take his breath away. It was easier to just lean his body down against the thestral’s, and keep his eyes shut, and grip tight.

At some point, he could feel heavy rain falling. It soaked his hair and skin, but his coat and robes were surprisingly dry. Some sort of waterproof magic, perhaps. He was terrified that he would slide right off the invisible creature beneath him. His imagination supplied him of images of falling out of the sky, of crashing, of splatting on pavement, or splatting on someone’s roof, of being skewered by a tree. Then, when he heard the boom of thunder, he was sure that he would get struck by a stray bolt of lightning. What a way to die. Though his eyes were shut, he could tell that the sky had darkened. He did not know how long they flew for - it felt like an eternity. But he knew that night had fallen.

Before long, Callidus could feel the thestrals descending. Through it all, he kept his eyes squeezed shut. When he felt the thestral touching down on ground, his entire body was trembling. He felt weak, from holding his muscles taut for so long. As soon as Hagrid lifted him off the thestral and set him on the ground, his knees couldn’t he even hold him up and he collapsed. The ground beneath seemed to consist of sharp bits of rock, and it dug into his hands knees.

“Easy there,” Hagrid said gently. “Yeh alright, Cal?” Hagrid had reached down an arm, and was helping Callidus to stand. Callidus’s legs felt like limp noodles. Though it was embarrassing, he clung on to Hagrid’s arm. He couldn’t support his weight otherwise. After a few uncomfortable minutes, feeling seemed to return to his legs, and was able to stand on his own two feet.

“Thank you, Hagrid,” Callidus said, abashed, but grateful. 

“Anytime, Cal!” Hagrid replied happily. Now on his own his own two feet, Callidus had a chance to look around. They appeared to be on a jutting rock surrounded by a storming sea. In the dark of night, the ocean was inky black. On the rock was a wretched looking shack that could rival his parents place at Spinner’s End. The flash of lightening that lit the landscape only made the shack look more miserable.

“Right then, let’s get goin’” Hagrid said brightly. He acted as though he were impervious to the rain. As for Callidus, he was shivering from the cold, and it took an effort to keep his teeth from chattering. As Hagrid trudged ahead, the rocks beneath his feet crunched. No where near as large as the half-giant, Callidus’s footsteps were silent in comparison. He was more conscious of the sound of the blowing wind stirring up the waves, and rolling thunder.


	3. Chapter 3

It was rather late, and there were no lights on in the shack.  Callidus wondered if he and Hagrid would be disrupting Harry’s sleep.  The idea made him feel self-conscious.  Would Harry like him less for waking him up?  Such considerations did not seem to cross Hagrid’s mind at all.  The door to the shack looked warped and miserable.  Hagrid knocked, although the knock sounded more like an explosion.  No one could be asleep after a knock like that.  But no one came to answer the door.  Hagrid looked at Callidus who looked back at Hagrid.  The half-giant’s expression was puzzled.  He was about knock again, when they heard a man’s voice shouting: “Who’s there?  I warm you, I’m armed!”  

 

The words caused Hagrid’s brow to furrow.  Callidus felt apprehension settle over him.  Hagrid wasn’t allowed to use magic.  What if the muggle killed him?  But Hagrid was unconcerned.  Swinging his fist, he pounded the door with such force that the entire door was knocked from its frame, and it fell down with a crash.  What would Harry think?  

 

Hagrid squeezed into the shack, and Callidus followed close behind, needing to get out of the unrelenting rain.  For some reason, Hagrid picked the door off the floor and fitted it back in place.  At least that quieted the sound of the storm.

 

Ordinarily, Callidus would be examining the surroundings.  But at the moment, his attention was fixed on the people in the room who were staring at Hagrid and him with their mouths hanging wide open.  He recognized Petunia right away - the miserable, disapproving girl looked like a miserable disapproving woman with a stick stuck up her arse.  There was a great big fat man that resembled a walrus.  And a big fat boy sitting on the sofa, whose eyes were bugging out of his head.

 

But what drew Callidus’s attention was the small skinny boy with wild black hair, and round-rimmed glasses.  The boy wore clothes that were several sizes too big, and the clothes looked old and worn.  In an odd way, he felt like he was seeing himself (if he had an entirely different face).  The skinniness - the shoddy clothes - the vulnerable expression.  Callidus knew beyond a shadow of doubt that this was Harry.  Harry couldn’t seem to decide whether to look at Hagrid or to look at him.  Without a smidgen of self-consciousness, Hagrid claimed the sofa where the fat boy had been sitting.  The half-giant greeted Harry as though he were familiar with the boy.

 

 “An’ this here’s Cal,” Hagrid added, gesturing towards Callidus, who still stood by the door.  “Come over here, Cal.  He’s not gonna bite, are yeh, Harry?”  Hagrid chuckled at his own joke.  Callidus would have frowned - being introduced as Cal meant that not only Hagrid, but now Harry would call him Cal.  But Harry’s eyes were on him, and he felt shocked to his core to see Lily’s eyes on the small boy.  He walked towards the sofa and gave Harry a wobbly smile.  Though in truth, Callidus wasn’t sure it even came out as a smile.  His nerves were terribly frayed.  He was used to cruelty and rejection from most children his age.  It had become automatic to have sneers and insults on hand.  He was taut with tension, already primed for rejection.

 

 “Hi?” Harry said.  The hesitance and quietness of Harry’s voice somehow reassured Callidus.  The tension eased.  The insults that sat on his tongue were forgotten.

 

 “H - Hello Harry,” Callidus said, and his ears burned because he had stammered.  So long as the boy was gazing at him with Lily’s eyes, he couldn’t tear his gaze away.  But there was no mockery or malice from the messy haired boy. Harry only gave him a questioning smile.  

 

Hagrid was still chatting merrily, and Harry turned his attention back to the half-giant.  Meanwhile, the fat man’s face was turning an alarming shade of red.  He said something threatening, and in annoyance, Hagrid grabbed the man’s gun and tied it in a neat knot before tossing it away.  Despite all the displays of magic that Callidus had already seen, he was impressed by this show of strength.

 

Hagrid continued to prattle, wishing Harry happy birthday.  Callidus had wanted to wish Harry a happy birthday too, but Hagrid kept talking, and he didn’t manage to cut in.  Reaching into his greatcoat, Hagrid pulled out the chocolate cake (which was a bit squished) and handed it to Harry.  Harry looked down at the cake and then back up at the half-giant, stunned.

 

 “Who are you?” Harry asked.  Somehow, despite his chatter, Hagrid had failed to introduce himself.  With another chuckle, Hagrid introduced himself, and shook Harry’s hand (or more accurately, his whole arm).  Hagrid kept going on about food, but fortunately, he seemed to notice the damp chilliness of the shack because he walked over to the fireplace and lit it.  The feeling of the heat on Callidus’s damp skin felt like bliss and he sighed.  When he looked over at Harry, the boy’s expression showed an equal measure of pleasure.

 

With the light of the fireplace, Callidus could see Harry more clearly, which meant that Harry could also get a better look at him as well.  Harry glanced up at Callidus, meeting his curious gaze, and Callidus felt embarrassed for staring.  He gave Harry a nervous smile, feeling like an idiot.  But to his surprise, Harry smiled back.  The other boy seemed to understand his own apprehension.  Harry opened his mouth to speak, but cut himself off when Hagrid sat back down on the sofa.

 

From his greatcoat, Hagrid seemed to pull out his entire kitchen.  There was a kettle, sausages, a teapot, chipped mugs, a poker and Hagrid’s bottle of whiskey.  Hagrid began to brew some tea and cook up the sausages.  Harry’s eyes seemed to fill with yearning as the smell of sausages filled the room.  Callidus thought: ‘Did I used to look that hungry?’  He thought he must have - it had been difficult to get steady meals when he lived with his parents.

 

The fat man told his son (whose awful name was Dudley) not to eat anything that Hagrid was making.  In return, Hagrid said that Dudley was a great pudding that didn’t need fattening.  Callidus had never heard a more apt description for a person.  Finally, the sausages were done, and when the half-giant passed some over to Harry, the boy looked like he had just been given a plate of shining galleons, rather than ordinary sausages. 

 

Hagrid had given Callidus some sausages as well.  Not wanting to eat while standing, Callidus sat on the floor by Harry and gave him another nervous smile.  Callidus was surprised by how delicious the sausages were.  The hot food seemed to warm him from the inside, and despite the shoddiness of his surroundings, he felt sedate and content.  Once the food was done, a silence descended on the hut.

 

Harry looked from Callidus to Hagrid.  “I’m sorry, but I still don’t really know who either of you are.”

 

Callidus looked up at Hagrid, who repeated his title and started to talk about Hogwarts.

 

 “Yeh’ll know all about Hogwarts, o’ course,” Hagrid said.  But Harry’s expression was blank.

 

 “Er - no,” Harry replied.  Hagrid looked shocked, and even Callidus was startled.  But then again, Lily hadn’t heard of Hogwarts either, until Callidus/Severus had told her.

 

Harry looked discomfited by Hagrid’s shocked expression and apologized, which set Hagrid off on a rant about Harry’s muggle relatives.  Hagrid started talking about Harry’s parents, which failed to clarify anything.  Callidus peeked a glance at Petunia.  Her mouth was nothing more than a straight line, and she looked pale and grim.  She did not take her eyes off of Hagrid.  Callidus knew then that Harry’s muggle relatives had told Harry nothing.

 

Hagrid continued his barrage of questions, most of which Harry answered in the negative.  He didn’t know his parents were a witch and wizard.  He didn’t know that they were famous.  He didn’t even know what he was.  At this point, Hagrid’s wrath turned on Harry’s muggle relatives.  After berating them, he turned back to Harry.

 

 “Harry, yer a wizard,” Hagrid informed the boy.  

 

Harry gasped.  “ - a what?”

 

 “A wizard o’ course,” Hagrid replied.  After another comment about Harry’s parents, he handed Harry his Hogwarts letter.  As Harry’s eyes scanned the neat script, his eyes seemed to widen.  If Harry was anything like Lily, his mind would be full of questions.  In that moment, Callidus wondered why they had sent Hagrid for this task.  Hagrid may have been jovial and kind, but he wasn’t necessarily the best person to teach Harry about the Wizarding World.  Maybe no one else wanted to do the job.  Which struck Callidus as strange.

 

Harry asked about what it meant that they were awaiting his owl.  At which point, Hagrid pulled an owl out of his great coat (and the owl looked far from pleased).  He wrote out a letter to the headmaster, and then sent the poor owl off into the storm to fly back to Hogwarts.

 

At some point, it was revealed that Harry’s muggles knew that Harry had been a wizard and hadn’t told him.  To Callidus, that was obvious.  He remembered Petunia’s reaction when Lily got her Hogwarts acceptance letter.  The older girl had been seething with jealousy.  Harry’s muggle relatives seemed to grow more and more upset, the more Hagrid revealed.  Everything was said in such a roundabout way that Callidus wondered how Harry made sense of it at all.

 

Petunia, who looked as though the vein in her forehead would burst, finally let loose an angry tirade.  She went on and on about Lily and how her sister went away for school and got special treatment.  But it wasn’t until Callidus heard the word ‘freak’ that he snapped.

 

 “Don’t talk about Lily that way!” Callidus stood up and bellowed.  Petunia’s attention turned toward Callidus, and her eyes widened as she finally recognized his face.  Her hand shook as she pointed a finger at him.

 

 “Y - you!” she exclaimed.  “You’re that Snape boy - the little weirdo with ugly clothes!”

 

Callidus snarled, and without realizing it, he had lunged towards Petunia, but Hagrid got a grip on his arm and held him in place.  Though Callidus was trapped by Hagrid’s arm, Petunia backed away.

 

 “You’re all freaks, the lot of you!” Petunia shrieked.  “Doing freaky things in your abnormal freaky world!  It’s no wonder that Lily and that Potter boy got themselves blown up.”  Her wild gaze turned back to Harry.  “And we got landed with you.”  Petunia’s words were pure venom, and Callidus hated her more than he ever did before.  As for Harry, the boy’s face had lost all colour.

 

 “Blown up?  You told me they died in a car crash!” Harry said, once he found his voice.  This enraged both Hagrid and Callidus, and set Hagrid off on a fresh new rant.  Bewildered, Harry asked about what had really happened.  This seemed to take the wind out of Hagrid’s sail, and the half-giant calmed down and proceeded to tell Harry his history.  Of course, Hagrid called Voldemort You-Know-Who, instead of Voldemort.  He could scarcely even bring himself to finally call Voldemort by name, and it took Callidus an effort not to roll his eyes.  Of course, for Callidus, he was used to Dumbledore speaking Voldemort’s name in a casual manner.  And while Callidus’s adult-self had lived through the war, he himself had not.

 

Callidus listened to Hagrid tell Harry the tale.  Having been told by Dumbledore (and having read numerous history books about it), Callidus knew most the details, and was surprised that Hagrid neglected any mention of the prophecy.  When Hagrid finally got to the part where he explained Voldemort’s attempt on Harry’s life, an expression of pain crossed Harry’s face.  When the half-giant finished the tale, Harry did not look illuminated.  Rather, he looked unsure of himself.  He didn’t even believe he was a wizard until Hagrid explained about accidental magic.

 

 “You’ll be right famous at Hogwarts!” Hagrid had declared.  This seemed to set the fat man off, which angered Hagrid.  The next thing anyone knew, the fat boy had a pig’s tail sticking out of his trousers.  With this, the muggles had had enough, and they bustled off into another room, leaving Hagrid, Harry and Callidus.

 

Callidus looked at Hagrid with surprise.  He knew the half-giant wasn’t supposed to use magic.  Hagrid looked rather sheepish, and he apologized, and explained his expulsion from Hogwarts.  But when Harry asked why he had been expelled, Hagrid loudly said: “"It's gettin' late and we've got lots ter do tomorrow.  Gotta get up ter town, get all yer books an' that." 

 

Then, he shucked off his greatcoat, apologizing that Callidus and Harry would have to share it for a blanket.  Callidus didn’t mind.  He was used to difficult, uncomfortable conditions.  And it was clear that Harry was as well.

 

The boys laid down on the floor, and soon, Hagrid was snoring.  It was a bit strange, sleeping with another boy.  Callidus hadn’t had any siblings.  When he was young, his mother had sometimes slept with him.  But that was different.  Callidus tried to stay as far from Harry as possible, while remaining under the greatcoat.

 

 “I meant to say it earlier, but it was rather difficult to cut in when Hagrid was speaking,” Callidus said shyly.  “Happy birthday, Harry.”  Without the half-giant’s imposing presence, would Harry show a darker side of himself?  Callidus’s stomach lurched.

 

However, Harry only smiled, and the way his eyes creased reminded him of Lily.  “Thanks,” Harry replied.  Callidus wondered if perhaps, Harry was as much of an open book as he seemed.  Lily had been that way.  Callidus was happy to cling to any similarities between Harry and Lily.

 

 “I got something for you,” Callidus said.  It was a bit awkward on the floor, but he dug into his robe pockets and pulled out the black pyramid.  Feeling abashed, he handed it to Harry.  Harry examined it under the flickering fire light.

 

 “Wow.  it’s - neat,” Harry said.  The words were rather simple, but Harry couldn’t hide his amazement at receiving a birthday gift.  “I’ve never gotten anything before.”

 

Harry flashed a bright smile, which made Callidus absurdly happy.  “It’s magic.  Here -” Callidus held out his hand, and Harry handed back the pyramid.  He focused his magic into it, and it changed from black to purple to blue.  When he stopped focusing, it turned back to black.  He handed the pyramid back to Harry.

 

 “How did you do that?” Harry asked with wide-eyed astonishment.  He was examining the pyramid, turning it this way and that, as though hoping to discover its secrets.

 

 “Just - focus your magic into it,” Callidus said, not sure of how to best explain it.  He thought about the words that he had read in magical theory books.  “It’s about intent.  You have to intend to use your magic, and will it into the pyramid.  It feels like a kind of energy flowing through you.  Just - try it.”

 

Harry’s eyes met Callidus’s, and though it made Callidus ache to see Lily’s eyes, it also made him feel a warm sort of joy.  Harry nodded before looking back at the pyramid.  He furrowed his eyes at it and pursed his lips.  For some reason, it  made Callidus want to laugh, but he held back.

 

The pyramid remained black, but Harry didn’t give up.  Even after a full minute of effort, Harry kept trying.  Suddenly, it happened.  Black, purple, blue.  Callidus broke into a smile.  Then green, yellow, orange.  Callidus’s eyes widened.  Finally, the pyramid was a bright red.  Harry unfurrowed his brow and his face showed mix between awe and pleasure.

 

 “It’s true then,” Harry said, sounding a bit breathless.  “I am a wizard.  And - and so are you.”

 

Callidus didn’t even answer.  He was still staring at the pyramid with shock.  This was probably Harry’s first time intentionally using magic, and he had gotten the pyramid to turn red.  Just how powerful was he?

 

 “Thank you,” Harry said, and something in Harry’s voice caused Callidus to look back at him.  The boy looked sleepy, but also content.  “This has been my best birthday ever.”  It was evident that using magic had drained Harry.  Callidus smiled at the other boy.  The idea of being friends no longer seemed like just a dream - now it was a possibility.  It was with these thoughts that Callidus finally drifted off to sleep.

 

The next morning, Callidus immediately knew he wasn’t at Hogwarts by the hardness of the floor and the chill in the air.  He could hear a tapping sound of an owl at the window.  The tapping seemed to have woken Harry, who mumbled: “All right, I’m getting up.”  Harry sat up, which caused the coat to lift off both of them.  Harry looked at the owl at the window and then at Callidus, who was sitting up as well.  There was an expression of amazed disbelief in his eyes.  It made Callidus’s eyes crease with amusement.

 

 “I assure you, it’s all real,” Callidus couldn’t help saying.  This brought a laugh out of Harry, which in turn strengthened Callidus’s liking towards the other boy.  Someone who laughed at his comments was sure to like him, weren’t they?

 

 “Is it a wizard-thing to read minds?” Harry asked.  But the owl was tapping with such insistence that Callidus didn’t get a chance to answer.  Harry stood up and let the owl in.  The owl glided into the room, dropping a newspaper on Hagrid’s still sleeping body.  After that, it proceeded to attack Hagrid’s coat.

 

 “Erm -” said Harry, confused about the behaviour of the owl.

 

 “I think it wants to be paid for the paper,” Callidus said.  “We should search the pockets.”

 

The overcoat seemed to be made more of pockets than coat.  Hagrid carried around a surprising amount of things.  Some of it seemed like bits and pieces of junk.  Other items were more practical.  Finally, Harry found a pocket containing coins.

 

 “How much are we supposed to give the owl?”  Harry asked, examining the coins that he had never seen before.  Callidus’s mother had shown him wizarding currency, so he recognized the knuts, sickles and galleons.

 

 “I’m not sure.  Maybe if we set the coins out, the owl will know,” Callidus replied.  It seemed as good an idea as any.  Harry laid the coins out in a neat row, and the owl used its clawed feet to drag five bronze knuts into a pile.  One of it’s feet had a little leather pouch, and the owl peered at Harry, as though expecting Harry to know what to do.

 

 “I think it needs you to put the knuts in that pouch,” Callidus told him.  Harry nodded, placing the knuts into the bag, and then the owl flapped its wings and flew out the window.  After the owl flew off, the two boys fell into an awkward silence.  Harry had a million questions he wanted to ask, and didn’t know where to begin.  As for Callidus, his only friend had been Lily.  He felt like he didn’t know how to talk to other people.  In the light of day, he was more aware than ever that Harry wasn’t Lily.

 

 “How did you find out that you’re a wizard?” Harry asked, finally breaking the silence (aside from Hagrid’s occasional snores).

 

 “My mum was a witch.  She told me,” Callidus replied.  “My dad was a muggle though.”

 

 “Muggle - that’s non-magical people, right?  Like my aunt and uncle?”

 

Callidus nodded.  “She told me all about magic and the Wizarding World.”  Just as it was with Lily, he couldn’t help but feel glad to have this knowledge that he could impart.  It was one of the few things that gave him a sense of worth.

 

 “Really?  Did you see her doing a lot of magic?” Harry asked, his green eyes lighting up with curiosity.

 

Callidus pursed his lips, trying to hold back a frown.  “Not really - my dad - he hated magic.  He hated everything, really.  If he ever caught my mum doing magic, then they would - erm - fight.”

 

Harry’s eyes widened before becoming sympathetic.  “I’m sorry.  I guess my aunt and uncle hate magic too.  I suppose that’s why they never told me.”  Harry worried his lower lip with his teeth, looking troubled.

 

 “I think that’s just what muggles are like.  They don’t understand magical-folk.  They’re probably scared of us,” Callidus replied, trying to be reassuring. “My mum said that’s why muggles used to burn witches at the stake.”

 

Harry did not look reassured by this piece of information.  In fact, he was looking rather pale, which only caused Callidus to feel guilty.

 

 “Erm - I don’t think they do that anymore,” Callidus added.  Harry gave him a weak smile in return.

 

 “So - er - what did your mum tell you about magic?”  Harry asked.

 

 “Oh, everything she knew!” Callidus replied brightly, hoping to impress Harry with his knowledge.  He started telling Harry about wands (“All witches and wizard use wands.”) He was describing some of the spells that witches and wizards used, when Hagrid finally woke up.  Callidus had been in the middle of telling Harry about some of the nastier curses he was aware of.  Harry looked both fascinated and repulsed (though fascination won out).  But Hagrid’s loud yawn cut Callidus off, and both boys looked towards the half-giant.  Hagrid sat up and stretched.  When he saw how bright it was outside, his beetle black eyes widened.

 

 “Why didn’t yeh wake me?” Hagrid cried out.  “We’ve lots ter do today.  Gotta buy all yer stuff fer school.”

 

 “Buy - stuff?”  Harry’s face seemed to fall, and Callidus looked at his possible-new-friend with a puzzled expression.  “Hagrid - I haven’t got any money and you heard Uncle Vernon last night ... he won't pay for me to go and learn magic." 

 

 “Harry - you’re a Potter!” Callidus exclaimed, causing Harry to look back towards him.  “Don’t you know what that means?  Nevermind, of course not.”  Callidus scowled and muttered: “Bloody useless muggles” before continuing.

 

 “The Potters are an old and rich pureblood family.  There’s actually few history books at Hogwarts that mentions them.  Since you’re the only Potter heir, that means that the entire Potter fortune falls to you,” Callidus informed Harry.  Harry still looked a bit puzzled.  

 

 “It means you’re rich, Harry,” Callidus added, keeping it as simple as possible.  Harry’s eyes widened.

 

 “Me?  Rich?”  Harry acted as if he couldn’t conceive of those two words fitting together in a sentence.

 

 “He’s right, Harry,” Hagrid cut in.  “Yer parents left yeh a fortune in Gringotts.  That’s a wizards’ bank.”

 

Having never heard of a wizards’ bank, Harry wanted to know all about it.  Callidus’s mother had told him about Gringotts, but it was still interesting to hear Hagrid’s description.  After all, the Prince’s had depleted their fortune, so Eileen Snape had never had reason to visit Gringotts.  Callidus knew it was run by goblins, but aside from that, his knowledge was scant.

 

 “I gotta visit Gringotts anyway. Fer Dumbledore. Hogwarts business." Hagrid drew himself up proudly. "He usually gets me ter do important stuff fer him. Fetchin' you gettin' things from Gringotts knows he can trust me, see.”

 

Harry seemed impressed by this, while Callidus was curious.  If the business was truly so important, why wouldn’t Dumbledore take care of it himself?  Callidus decided he would question Hagrid later.  The half-giant was terrible at keeping secrets after all.


	4. Chapter 4

Since Hagrid couldn’t use magic, they travelled to the Leaky Cauldron by muggle means.  As they travelled, Hagrid explained about the Ministry of Magic, and the necessity of keeping the magical world apart from the muggle world.  Callidus actually knew very little about the Ministry of Magic, and decided he would take some time to research it on his own.  At some point, Hagrid expressed his desire to own a dragon.

 

 “Are you mad?” Callidus couldn’t help exclaiming.  “Don’t you realize how dangerous they are?  Usually it takes a whole team of dragon handlers to manage just one dragon!”

 

But Hagrid didn’t seem to pay him any heed.  Callidus knew that Hagrid was good with animals - even dangerous ones.  But he was quite certain that the half-giant wouldn’t be able to manage a dragon.  His head filled with images of Hagrid being burnt to a crisp, and he shuddered.  

 

The Leaky Cauldron was a grubby-looking pub that bridged the muggle and magical world.  The muggles on the street passed it by without any awareness of it.  After all, it could only be seen by magical beings.  The pub seemed to fall silent as Hagrid entered.  He must have been a familiar fixture at the Leaky Cauldron.  The other witches and wizards gave him friendly smiles and waves.  Callidus and Harry shared a look.  Being in the company of Hagrid made them both feel very conspicuous.   

 

Somehow, the bartender of the Leaky Cauldron (whose name was Tom) recognized Harry.  To Callidus’s dismay, the entire pub swarmed Harry, shaking his hand, and patting his back.  Some of them even had tears in their eyes.  Harry looked bewildered by the attention.  Rather than feeling at ease, Harry looked uncomfortable.  It made Callidus want to snap and snarl at the crowd to leave Harry alone.  

 

They did end up meeting one of their Hogwarts Professors, whose name was Quirrell.  Professor Quirrell taught Defence Against the Dark Arts.  Callidus was less than impressed by the stammering, timid man.  As for the other patrons of the Leaky Cauldron, they would not leave Harry alone.  Callidus pushed his way towards Hagrid, tugging on the half-giant’s coat with irritation.

 

 “Hagrid, we need to get going,” Callidus hissed with irritation.  “This is stressful for Harry.  Can’t you tell?”

 

Hagrid suddenly looked abashed.  It was evident that he assumed that Harry would enjoy the attention.

 

 “Must get on - lots ter buy.  Come on Harry.”  Hagrid’s voice easily cut through the babbling crowd.  Harry looked grateful to be escaping the adoring hoard.  Hagrid led them into a small courtyard, behind the bar, and after tapping a series of bricks, the wall opened into an archway.  The three of them passed under the archway, and both boys looked around with amazement.

 

 “Welcome to Diagon Alley,” said Hagrid with a wide smile.  Callidus’s mother had told him all about Diagon Alley.  But this was his first time visiting.  

 

Unlike Hogwarts (in the summer), Diagon Alley was bustling with witches, wizard and other magical beings.  Colourful shops drew the eye.  Neither Harry nor Callidus could stop gaping and turning their heads this way and that.  There were shops selling caldrons, an apothecary, a pet store (and an owl emporium), robe shops, and broomstick shops.  But what excited Callidus most were the book stores. New books, used books, rare books.  And all of them magical.  As much as Callidus liked the Hogwarts library, he longed to own his own books.  But before either of them could buy anything, they needed to go to the bank.

 

Gringotts towered over all the other shops.  It was a shining white building that looked so polished and bright that Callidus wondered if they used magic to repel mud and dirt.  The doors were a burnished bronze, and next to the door stood a goblin in a uniform of scarlet and gold.  ‘Gryffindor colours,’ Callidus thought. 

 

Through the bronze doors was a second set of doors - this time silver.  And past the silver doors was an immense hall made of marble.  There was a long counter, behind which sat over a hundred goblins on high stools.  Leading off the hall were a series of doors, too numerous to count.  The goblins all appeared to be busy.  They were either helping customers through the doors, writing in ledgers, counting coins or examining jewels.

 

 “Will yeh be alright on yer own, Cal?” Hagrid asked him, pulling Callidus’s attention away from the awe-inspiring scene.  Callidus nodded.  Professor Dumbledore had told him what he needed to do.  The goblins would identify him as Severus Snape, and it was important that Callidus’s business (and name) remain confidential. 

 

Hagrid led Harry towards one of the free goblins at the counter.  Callidus did the same, finding another goblin to speak to.

 

 “What is your business today, sir?” the goblin asked politely.

 

 “I need to access my vault, but I don’t have my key,” Callidus replied.  The goblin seemed to give him a narrowed-eyed suspicious glance.

 

 “Your name?”

 

 “Severus Snape,” Callidus replied.  The familiar name rolled off his tongue easily.  It was still a little difficult for Callidus to think of himself as Callidus, but he was getting used to it.  The goblin nodded.  He reached behind the counter, and pull out a piece of parchment, and a small, gleaming knife.

 

 “A drop of blood on the parchment, sir,” the goblin said, handing the small knife to Callidus.  Callidus took the little dagger, which looked to be gold.  He wasn’t entirely certain what he should be doing.  Slice his finger perhaps?  That seemed most logical.  He moved his finger towards the edge of the blade, holding it above the parchment.

 

 “Just a prick will do,” the goblin said, with a hint of impatience.  Callidus nearly dropped the blade, but managed to get a grip on it.  Rather than slicing his finger, he pricked it on the tip of the blade, and a round dome of blood welled up and then dropped on the parchment.

 

As soon as the blood touched the parchment, it seemed to wriggle and spread out.  Callidus watched with fascination.  The crimson blood formed into lines and curves until he could read “Severus Tobias Snape” on the parchment.

 

  “That seems to be in order,” the goblin said.  “Will you need another key, sir?”

 

 “Erm - yes please,” Callidus replied.  The goblin nodded.

 

 “Very well.  I will have someone take you down to your vault.  Argrod!”

 

Argrod the goblin led Callidus through one of the doors into a stone passageway lit with torches.  There was a railway track on the floor, and Argrod whistled for a cart which zoomed up the track towards them.  Callidus had an uneasy feeling about this, but climbed into the cart behind the goblin.

 

As expected, it was a nauseating ride.  Just as he did when flying on the thestral, Callidus squeezed his eyes shut, hoping to keep the contents of his stomach in his stomach.  The cart rattled and jerked, and there were sharp twists and turns that had Callidus holding on for dear life.  The trip was mercifully quick, and when Callidus opened his eyes, he saw a small door in the passageway.  Callidus climbed out of the cart, his legs feeling wobbly.

 

Argrod opened the door, and when the smoke cleared, Callidus stepped into the vault.  Within was the most money Callidus had ever seen in his life.  Of course, since his parents were poor, seeing anything more than a few crumpled bank notes (that smelled like smoke and alcohol) was impressive.  It was probably paltry compared to Harry’s fortune, but it still amazed Callidus to know that he had his own galleons to spend.

 

 “How much do you suppose I’ll need to purchase my school supplies?” Callidus asked Argrod.  Argrod gave him an approximate range (depending on the quality of supplies he intended to buy).  

 

 “Is there - erm - a bag or pouch I can use?”

 

Argrod nodded, handing Callidus a leather pouch.  “For a fee, I can put an undetectable extension charm on it,” the goblin informed Callidus.

 

 “Yes please,” Callidus replied.  It would be useful, having a pouch that could extend to hold multiple items, while still appearing like a small basic pouch.  Argrod nodded, uttered the incantation, and then handed the pouch to Callidus, who loaded it with coins.  He decided to take a little more than Argrod suggested, just in case some books caught his eye.

 

The cart ride back was just as nauseating on the way up as it was on the way down.  In the marble hall, Harry and Hagrid were nowhere in sight, so Callidus waited by the silver doors.  It wasn’t long before the Harry and Hagrid came out through one of the side doors.  Harry looked energized while Hagrid appeared rather green.

 

 “That was kind of fun, wasn’t it?” Harry asked Callidus.

 

 “I don’t think that’s the adjective I would have chosen,” Callidus replied, dryly.  Harry only grinned.  

 

 “What took you two so long?” Callidus asked.  “You went into your vaults before me.”

 

 “Oh, Hagrid had to take care of that Hogwarts business thing.”

 

Callidus gave Harry a look, as though expecting Harry to tell him more.

 

 “I can’t tell you,” Harry said, lowering his voice.  “Hagrid said it was a big secret.  Besides, I didn’t actually see what it was.”

 

Callidus peered up at Hagrid.  Dumbledore trusted Hagrid to take care of a big secret?  Unlikely.  

 

 “Might as well get yer uniforms,” Hagrid said to the pair of them.  He gestured towards Madam Malkin’s Robes for All Occasions.

 

 “Will yeh two be okay without me?  I think I need a bit o’ a pick-me-up at the Leaky Cauldron.  I hate them Gringotts carts.”  In truth, Hagrid did look rather sick.  Callidus thought his own motion sickness was bad, but it was evident that Hagrid’s was worse. 

 

 “We’ll be fine,” Callidus replied.  He looked over at Harry, who was looking a bit nervous.  Neither of them had ever navigated the magical world on their own, but at least they had each other.  Harry smiled weakly.

 

The pair of them entered Madam Malkin’s and were greeted by a squat witch in mauve robes.  Her smile was warm and reassuring.  It was clear that she was used to nervous first year students.

 

 “Hogwarts, dearies?” she asked.  “Got the lot here - another young man being fitted up just now, in fact." 

 

Callidus and Harry shared a look.  This would be the first time for both of them, meeting another Hogwarts student (aside from each other).  The followed Madam Malkin to the back of the store.

 

In the back of the shop was a boy with white-blond hair, and a pale, pointed face.  His eyes were a cool grey, and he carried himself with a sort of haughtiness that suggested that he was probably rich and spoiled.  The boy stood on a footstool, and there was a second witch pinning up his long black robes.  Madam Malkin drew up two more footstools, gesturing at the boys to stand on them.  She slipped a robe on Harry first, and then another on Callidus. Then she started pinning Harry’s robes to the right length.

 

 “Hello,” said the boy, eyeing both of them.  “Hogwarts too?”

 

 “Yes,” Harry and Callidus chirped.

 

  "My father's next door buying my books and mother's up the street looking at wands," said the boy. He had a bored, drawling voice. "Then I'm going to drag them off to took at racing brooms. I don't see why first years can't have their own. I think I'll bully father into getting me one and I'll smuggle it in somehow." 

 

 ‘Spoiled indeed,’ Callidus thought.  He looked over at Harry.  Harry also appeared unimpressed with the blond, but there was also a touch of wariness.  Callidus could understand his concern.  Boys like the blond were not exactly merciful to those who were poor, awkward like himself (and Harry).  Callidus felt himself tense, ready for a possible verbal attack.

 

 “Have you got your own broom?” the boy asked.

 

 “No,” said Harry, while Callidus shook his head.

 

 “Play Quidditch at all?”

 

 “No,” Harry said again.  Callidus wondered how the boy thought they would play Quidditch when neither of them had brooms.  His estimation of the boy’s intelligence decreased.  Harry just looked confused.  Being muggle-raised, Harry wouldn’t know what Quidditch was.

 

  "I do - Father says it's a crime if I'm not picked to play for my house, and I must say, I agree. Know what house you'll be in yet?"  The blond boy’s expression was a mix of inquisitive and condescending.  

 

 “No,” Harry said.  The blond boy looked toward Callidus.

 

 “Slytherin.  I hope,” Callidus replied, keeping his voice low and cold.

 

 “Me too!” the blond exclaimed, the haughtiness melting away, just a bit.  If anything, he looked relieved, and somehow younger.  “All our family have been in Slytherin.”

 

 “Mine as well,” Callidus admitted.  Harry was looking back and forth between them, confused.  

 

Noticing his expression, Callidus explained.  “There are four Houses at Hogwarts that the students get sorted into.  Slytherin, Ravenclaw, Hufflepuff and Gryffindor.”

 

 “You don’t know about the Houses?” the blond exclaimed, looking aghast.  “Are you a mud - muggleborn?” Callidus frowns as he considered the word that the boy was just about to say.  It almost surprised him that the blond was able to correct himself at the last moment.  He could imagine good manners being drilled into the boy’s head from the moment he was born.  But still, it lowered his (already low) estimation of the boy, and Callidus felt protective of Harry.

 

 “Erm -” said Harry.

 

 “He isn’t,” Callidus informed the blond, his voice now flat.  “His mother was a witch and his father was a wizard.”

 

 “Oh!” the boy looked relieved.  But his expression quickly changed to confusion. “Then how do you not know about the Houses?  Were you raised on the Continent?  My family has a summer manor in France.  My father wanted me to go to Durmstrang but my mother disagreed.”

 

This only confused Harry further.

 

 “He was raised by muggles,” Callidus explained.  There was an insult on ready on the tip of his tongue.  The intelligence of the blond was clearly dubious.  But the pale boy wouldn’t shut up.

 

The blond was horrified.  “Muggles?  That’s awful!” He looked towards Callidus.  “You too?”

 

 “I -,” Callidus started.  It seemed like a lot of effort to explain his situation - having a muggle father but being raised by a witch.  In a sense, he lived between both worlds.

 

But the pale boy cut him off.  The blond’s voice lowered into a conspiratorial tone.  “I heard that muggles do terrible things to witches and wizards.  Is it true?”  The blond’s expression invited disclosure.

 

 “Well -” Harry said uneasily.  “They did lock me in a cupboard.”  As soon as the words left his mouth, Harry silently kicked himself.  He bit his lower lip, as though wishing his words back.  Why did he just reveal that?  And to the annoying blond, no less.

 

Both Callidus and the blond looked at Harry, astounded and horrified.  Callidus knew that Harry’s relatives had treated him poorly, but he didn’t realize the extent of it.  Harry’s face was flushed, embarrassed by their wide-eyed stares.

 

Callidus felt bad, seeing Harry’s discomfiture.  “My muggle father used to hit and throw me,” he said, to draw the attention away from Harry.  And like Harry, he was stunned when the words had left his mouth.  He hadn’t meant to reveal  _ that  _ much.  

 

Now Harry and the blond were staring at him.  This whole conversation had become uncomfortable.  It was like some contest of who had the worse life, that neither of them had wanted to sign up for.  Curse that blond!  Callidus couldn’t believe what he had just revealed.  Information could always be used against him.  But at the same time, he couldn’t help but want to protect Harry, and Harry had looked so uncomfortable.  Madam Malkin, and the shopgirl pinning their robes both looked appalled.

 

The blond boy looked rather sick.  “That’s - terrible.  How can they get away with this?  Just wait until I tell my father.  There should be a law against letting muggles raise magical children.”

 

Harry and Callidus shared a look.  The blond’s reaction wasn’t what they had expected.  They thought there might be disbelief, or maybe pity (or more disturbingly, a perverse fascination.)  For some reason, the boy’s indignation on their behalf was a small relief.  “Do you really think they would do that?” Harry asked, sounding almost hopeful.  “Take me away from the - erm - muggles?”

 

 “They have to!” the blond asserted, sounding sure of himself but Callidus was sceptical.  “My father has a lot of influence in the Ministry.  What’s your surname by the way?”

 

 “Erm - Potter,” said Harry.

 

 “Prince,” said Callidus.

 

 “Potter?  You can’t be - you don’t mean - Harry Potter?”  the blond exclaimed.

 

Before Harry could answer, Madam Malkin said  "That's you done, my dear.”  However, she still had to help Callidus with his robes.  Harry hopped off the footstool.  He looked uncomfortable with the blond’s questioning.  Fortunately, he noticed Hagrid standing by the front window.  The half-giant was attempting to hold onto  three ice-cream cones, and his efforts looked rather awkward.

 

 “I’ve got to go,” Harry said, nodding towards Hagrid before dashing off.

 

 “I’ll see you at Hogwarts,” the blond called out to Harry’s back.  Once Harry was out the door, the blond turned his attention back to Callidus.

 

 “So?”  the blond asked.

 

Callidus raised his eyebrow.  “Have you lost your ability to articulate questions in full sentences?” He spoke with a cutting sharpness.  He was still annoyed with the blond’s invasive questions (and the things that the boy now knew about him and Harry.)

 

The blond scowled.  “So, was that Harry Potter?”  His voice was impatient and demanding.

 

Callidus debated lying.  But the blond would find out soon enough.  “Yes.  That was Harry.”

 

The blond’s eyes widened and he looked back out the window, where Harry was licking his rather melted ice cream.

 

 “Harry Potter,” the blond murmured, as though amazed.  Callidus rolled his eyes and looked away.  They fell silent as Madam Malkin and the shopgirl continued pinning their robes.

 

 “So - Prince you said?” the blond asked.  “I didn’t know the Prince’s had an heir.  Thought the line died out a few decades ago.”

 

 “Uh -” Callidus had no idea how to even answer that.  His mother had been disowned when she married Tobias.

 

The blond looked at him curiously but then his ears pinkened.  “Oh - I see.”  It seemed that the blond had come to some sort of conclusion.  Perhaps he assumed that Callidus was illegitimate.  This meant another awkward silence.

 

 “I’m Malfoy, by the way.  Draco Malfoy,” the blond said, imperiously, holding out his hand. 

 

 “Hm,” Callidus considered a polite response, like ‘nice to meet you’, but decided it wasn’t worth the effort.  Still, he shook the blond’s hand.  After all, they might be stuck in Slytherin together.  “Callidus.  Callidus Prince.”

 

Finally, Madam Malkin was done with him.  With relief, Callidus left the shop and joined Harry and Hagrid.  Hagrid handed him a very melted ice cream (Pralines, butterscotch and chocolate).

 

 “I was jus’ tellin’ Harry about Quidditch,” Hagrid explained.

 

The next shop they went into was Flourish and Blotts.  As soon as the smell of books hit Callidus’s nose, he sighed with pleasure.  Once they found all their school books, Callidus longed to stay.  But Hagrid seemed impatient, and he forced himself away from the books.  At least his adult-self had a decent collection of books down in his chambers.  True, most of them were far too advanced for him yet, but he was determined to read (and understand) them all.

 

Cauldrons were next.  Hagrid wouldn’t let Harry buy a solid gold caudron.  As for Callidus, his adult-self had numerous cauldrons in various sizes and metal types.  Still, he couldn’t help but admire the cauldrons, and debated whether or not to buy another one (just because).  Following that was the Apothecary.  Most eleven year olds would be excited about visiting the joke shop or candy shop, but Callidus was thrilled to be in the apothecary.  Even Harry noticed Callidus’s awestruck expression, and grinned at him.

 

Callidus had already purchased everything he needed from his supply list.  However, Harry still needed his wand.

 

 “An' I still haven't got yeh a birthday present,” Hagrid said.  Harry flushed, trying to insist that Hagrid didn’t need to, but in the end, Hagrid ended up buying Harry a beautiful snowy owl.

 

 “Now we’ll be able to write each other letters,” Callidus said, feeling pleased.  Harry, who already looked like he was at the peak of his happiness somehow managed to look even happier.

 

Ollivander’s the wand shop, was the last stop.  As they entered, they could hear a tinkling bell that rang in the depths of the shop.  The shop only had a single, spindly chair, upon which Hagrid sat.  The shop felt dusty and very old.  The silence here was thick - nothing could be heard of the bustle outside the shop.  Callidus and Harry shared an uncertain glance.  Callidus was curious about the entire wand-buying process.  His adult-self already had a wand, and the wand seemed to suit him perfectly.  But he still wanted to see how wands chose their masters.

 

  “Good afternoon,” said a soft voice that startled all three of them.  Before them was an old man with wide, pale eyes.  Something about him sent shivers down Callidus’s spine.  Those eyes were strangely knowing.  It was a bit like Dumbledore, and yet it was also different.

 

If Callidus found him unsettling then, that feeling only intensified as the old man, who turned out to be Mr. Ollivander, continued to speak.  The man seemed to see the entire world in terms of wands - describing Harry’s parent’s wands, as well as Hagrid’s wand in great detail.  But then, Mr. Ollivander turned to Callidus, and his eyes narrowed.  Callidus couldn’t help gulping.

 

  “You already have a wand, don’t you?”  Mr. Ollivander said.  A terrible sinking feeling settled upon Callidus.  Did the wandmaker know who he was?  Would he reveal his secret?  Dumbledore had stressed the importance of maintaining his secrecy.  What would he do if his identify was revealed now, like this?  But in the end, all Mr. Ollivander did was give him a knowing smile that made his pale eyes seem to glow.  Then he turned his attention towards Harry.

 

Mr. Ollivander made Harry try wand after wand.  As the day wore on, Callidus had the impression that Harry must have tried every wand in the store.  Harry was looking a bit concerned, as though he thought that in the end, there wouldn’t be a wand for him.  However, in the end, Harry found his wand.  Harry’s wand was the brother-wand to Voldemort’s (or as Mr. Ollivander called him He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named).  This bit of information probably sent a creeping shiver down everyone’s spine.

 

 “I think we must expect great things from you, Mr. Potter,” Mr. Ollivander had said.  After seeing the way Harry had changed the pyramid from black to red, Callidus silently agreed.


	5. Chapter 5

Finally, they were done all their shopping.  They dropped Harry off at the London Underground, grabbing a hamburger before Harry’s train departed.  Harry’s troubled expression seemed to remain.  It bothered the messy-haired boy to have the weight of everyone’s expectations on his shoulders.  But both Hagrid and Callidus tried to give him reassurance

 

Callidus explained to Harry how to send letters by owl post (“Just address it to my name, and your owl will be able to find me.  Have you decided on a name for her yet?”)  And in turn, he promised to write Harry.  This appeared to cheer Harry up, and by the time his train arrived, Callidus and Hagrid waved him off with a smile.  Then, it was back to the Leaky Cauldron, where he and Hagrid would return to Hogwarts by floo.  

 

With Harry gone, the feeling of melancholy settled upon Callidus once again.  He liked Harry - Callidus wasn’t an optimistic boy, but the meeting had gone better than he dared hope.  But he still grieved for Lily, and his mother.  While he did not want his life to go back to what it had been, that did not lessen his sense of loss.  Meeting Harry had been like finding a sliver of light in a dark and dismal cavern.  But with Harry gone, he felt more aware of the gloominess than ever.

 

Rather than brooding, Callidus threw himself back into his self-study, determined to cram as much information into his brain as possible before the term started.  He had decided that it was his goal at Hogwarts to be the top student.  If his previous-self had gotten his Potions Mastery at the age of twenty, then Callidus would get it at the age of nineteen.  His social interactions were limited to mostly Hagrid, and on occasion, Dumbledore.  The friendship that the adult Severus had with Dumbledore had, in some way, transferred to Callidus.  The old man was both interesting, but also maddening in turns.  Callidus still wasn’t sure if he even liked Dumbledore.

 

But during that time, he didn’t neglect to write Harry.  In truth, the first letter felt awkward and stilted.  But when Harry had written back (with a ballpoint pen, on that ugly bleached muggle paper), the other boy sounded thrilled to have received a letter.  Harry had more questions than answers.  Having revealed (at Madam Malkins) that he had lived in a cupboard, Harry admitted that his life was limited to school and chores.  He also informed Callidus that his snowy owl had been named Hedwig.

 

Callidus told Harry everything he knew about Hogwarts and the Wizarding World.  He explained the four Houses of Hogwarts (and why he wanted to be in Slytherin).  He told Harry about the various ghosts that haunted the corridors and halls.  He described the talking and moving portraits.  He also described the surrounding landscape (“there’s a giant squid in the lake, and centaurs in the forest.”)  Callidus also told Harry about magical creatures (“yes, unicorns and fairies are real”), potions (“if you’d like, we can be partners”), and magical transportation (“flying on a thestral is rather terrifying.”)

 

Since a couple of the teachers had subscriptions to the _Daily Prophet_ , Callidus also kept Harry up to date on any news that he thought might be interesting.  Particularly the one news report about someone who attempted to rob a high security vault at Gringotts.  What made it interesting was how the robbery had occurred after Hagrid had announced his ‘important Hogwarts business.’  It was a rather interesting mystery.

 

And though Callidus did not admit it, sometimes he found himself feeling like he was writing to Lily, as he composed his letters to Harry.  Just like with Lily, something about Harry broke down his reserve.  Both Lily and Harry were among the few people who could draw out a smile from Callidus.  But all of that was a secret that would remain deep in the depths of his heart, never to see the light of day.

 

As it drew closer to September, the heavy chains of mourning began to lighten.  Dumbledore had informed Callidus that he would be dropped off at King’s Cross Station.  Initially, it had struck Callidus as unnecessary - he was already here at Hogwarts after all.  But after some more thought, it occurred to him that the train ride on the Hogwarts Express would afford him a chance to meet other first years.  Plus, he looked forward to seeing Harry again.  And some part of him was also scared that maybe, Harry would meet better friends on the train, and wouldn’t want to be friends with Callidus anymore.

 

On the morning of the first of September, Professor McGonagall took him by floo to London, and they apparated to Platform Nine and Three-quarters.  It was second time travelling by Floo, but his first time side-along apprating.  If Professor McGonagall hadn’t been holding onto his arm, he most certainly would have fallen flat on his face.  As it was, it took an effort not to sick up.  Why was magical travel so uncomfortable?  At least he didn’t need to bring his trunk along - that had been left at Hogwarts.

 

 “Good Luck, Mr. Prince,” Professor McGonagall had said, before departing.  Callidus thanked the professor, and hoped that he wouldn’t actually need it.  

 

Once Callidus figured out where the dividing barrier between the muggle and magical world was, he stood by it, hoping to see Harry.  He hadn’t seen the messy-haired boy when he did his first loop around the busy platform.  Callidus hoped he hadn’t somehow missed him.  The busyness of the train station made Callidus anxious.  He was used to sticking out (in the worse way possible), and he had to constantly remind himself that no one was staring at him.  While Callidus waited for Harry, he examined his surroundings.

 

The Hogwarts Express was a scarlet steam engine.  ‘Gryffindor colours again?’ Callidus thought.  His mother had once railed against Gryffindors, claiming that the magical world was biased in their preference for the ‘impetuous and hot-headed lions.’  Or at least Dumbledore was, which Callidus didn’t doubt.

 

Most of the other Hogwarts students on the platform where here with their families.  The first years were easily identifiable, both because of their small stature, and because of the way they clung to their parents, with a mix of anxiousness and excitement.  There were even one or two students bawling into their parents robe, saying: “I don’t wanna go to school, mum!”  For some reason, this sight made Callidus long for his own mother.  If she were still alive, she would have seen him off to Hogwarts.  But now, he was here, all by himself.

 

A family of more red-heads than Callidus had ever seen in one place came tumbling through the brick barrier.  Their hair leaned more towards orange, than Lily’s beautiful auburn.  But even so, it still made Callidus think of her.  As he thought back to the history books he had read, he was filled with a renewed sense of disbelief that she had ended up in Gryffindor.  He fervently hoped that the same thing wouldn’t happen with Harry.

 

Behind the red-heads came Harry.  As soon as Callidus saw him, he lit up, and waved at his the messy-haired boy.

 

 “Harry!” he called out.  He felt a bit like an idiot for being so excited, so it was reassuring to see Harry’s open grin.

 

 “Cal!” Harry replied.  Callidus couldn’t even bring himself to feel annoyed to be called Cal.  As for Harry, his gaze was drawn to the hubbub of the platform.  

 

 “We should find a compartment,” Callidus said.  Harry nodded absently.  He was too busy goggling at everything.

 

 “Gran, I’ve lost my toad again,” they heard a round-faced boy say.  Callidus shook his head.  Ridiculous.

 

The pair of them found an empty compartment near the middle of the train.  Harry put Hedwig in first, while Callidus helped him with his heavy trunk.

 

 “You should have asked for a feather-light charm,” Callidus said, groaning from the effort of lifting the heavy burden.

 

 “Feather-light charm?  I didn’t realize that was an option,” Harry replied, his face flushed from exertion.  Harry sat by the window, unable to take his eyes off the milling crowd of parents and students.  There was an expression of longing in the boy’s eyes, that Callidus could relate to.  But whereas Harry couldn’t tear his eyes away, Callidus found it hard to look.

 

The door of the compartment opened, and the pale boy from Madam Malkin’s stood at the entry, flanked by two hulking boys that looked like bodyguards.

 

 “Potter!” the pale boy said, and there was look of almost happiness on his face, that was quickly masked with cool hauteur.  He turned away from Harry to greet Callidus. “Prince.”

 

Harry looked towards the pale boy with a flash of annoyance.  The blond boy didn’t seem to notice.

 

 “My name is Malfoy.  Draco Malfoy.  And this is Crabbe and Goyle,” the pale boy informed them.  “Is anyone sitting there?” Draco indicated towards the empty seat.  Callidus and Harry shared a look.  But before either Callidus or Harry could get a word in, Draco sat down next to Harry, taking their silence as assent.  Crabbe and Goyle squeezed in next to Callidus, so that he found himself squashed against the wall of the compartment.  The boy next to him (Callidus couldn’t tell if it was Crabbe or Goyle) smelled like sausages, marmalade and sweat.  It made him want to gag.

 

Noticing Callidus’s discomfort, Harry said: “I don’t think we can all fit in here.  Maybe we should find another compartment, Cal.”

 

Callidus was about to agree, but before he could, Malfoy cut in.  “No need.  Crabbe!  Go sit with Pansy in the other compartment!”

 

The thickset boy, furthest from Callidus grunted before pulling himself up and lumbering out of the compartment.  

 

 ‘Better trained than some dogs I’ve seen and about as intelligent,’ Callidus thought, with a mix of amusement and irritation.  The irritation was due to the fact that Malfoy was determined to stay.  They felt the train begin to move and pull out of the station.  The four boys watched out the window as the parents waved, some of them wiping away tears.

 

 “How was the rest of your summer?” Malfoy asked Harry.  Malfoy kept flicking glances at Harry’s forehead, but managed to refrain from making a comment about Harry’s scar.

 

 “Er - okay,” Harry mumbled.

 

 “Mother insisted on a trip to the Continent before the term started. We spent the last two weeks in Spain.  The accommodations weren’t as nice as our summer manor in France, but I suppose the beaches were acceptable.”

 

Harry and Callidus shared a look.  Was Malfoy trying to impress them, or make them feel bad?

 

 “I’ve never been to a beach,” said Harry.

 

 “I haven’t either,” added Callidus, with almost a touch of self-satisfaction in his tone as if to say ‘I have this in common with Harry, and you don’t.’  Besides, his agreement made Harry smile.

 

Malfoy looked momentarily discomposed, but quickly recovered.  “I spoke to father about your muggle relations.  He was outraged, and said he would speak to the Minister about it.”

 

This seemed to grab Harry’s attention, and he looked towards Malfoy with interest and hope.  “Really?”

 

Malfoy responded with a smug smile.  “He thought it was monstrous that muggles are permitted to treat magical-folk that way.  He said he would have a bill drafted up.”

 

 “Huh,” Harry replied.  He didn’t know anything about bills or politics in general.  Neither did Callidus, aside from the bits he had gleaned from books.

 

Malfoy scrambled for another topic.  “What subject do you look forward to the most?”

 

At least this, Harry could answer, since he had looked over his textbooks (and Callidus had given Harry a general overview in his letters).  “Defence Against the Dark Arts.  And maybe potions.”

 

Callidus smirked.  It seemed his own interest in potions had rubbed off on Harry.  “I’d say the same,” Callidus added.

 

Malfoy glanced at Callidus before turning his attention back to Harry.  “I’m looking forward to Defence, Potions and Transfiguration.  Did you hear about how the last Potions professor mysteriously disappeared?  Dumbledore claims that Snape (that’s the Potion Professor’s name) is taking a sabbatical.  Father doesn’t believe it though.  Snape was the Head of Slytherin.  It’s too bad he’s gone - I heard he favours the snakes.  Also, Snape used to sometimes visit father at the manor.  But father usually wanted me to stay out of sight when _certain_ people visited.  Not that I ever wanted to talk to Snape - if you ever saw the man sneer, you’d understand.”

 

Callidus paled, but he was also interested in what Malfoy had to say.  What relation did his adult-self have to the Malfoys?  If Malfoy senior was anything like Draco, he couldn’t imagine befriending him.  But he was secretly interested to learn how adult-Severus sneered.  That sounded useful.  As for Harry, he just looked mildly curious.  “Who’s going to be the new Head of Slytherin now?”

 

 “I heard that Dumbledore managed to convince Slughorn out of retirement.  Rumour is, Slughorn was coaxed out of retirement when he heard that a _certain_ _someone_ was beginning Hogwarts.  Father says that old Sluggy does like having a broad network.  I suppose he’ll be the new Head of Slytherin,” Malfoy replied thoughtfully eyeing Harry.

 

 “Your father was friends with - Snape?” Callidus asked, his expression cautious.

 

Malfoy considered the question.  “I’d say they were associates.  They knew one another at school.  Father was a few years older, of course.  And they had other - connections.”

 

Callidus pondered his words but they were too vague.  But something about the way Malfoy had said ‘connections’ struck him as significant.  Malfoy turned back to Harry.  “So, do you think you’ll be in Slytherin then?”

 

Harry glanced towards Callidus, before looking back at Malfoy.  “Maybe,” Harry hedged.

 

Callidus raised his eyebrow, and Harry gave him a helpless shrug.  Harry didn’t see himself as being very cunning or resourceful.  With his luck, he’d probably be a Hufflepuff.

 

Seeming to understanding his thoughts, Callidus said: “I think you’d make a great Slytherin.”

 

 “Definitely,” Malfoy affirmed, with complete confidence.

 

 “Really?” Harry replied, sceptical.  Harry found himself thawing a bit towards Malfoy.  The boy was stuck-up and kind of annoying, yes, but it was obvious that he was trying to be nice.  He just wasn’t very good at it.

 

 “Of course!  Crabbe or Goyle will probably be in Slytherin, and you’d have to be daft to describe them as cunning,” Malfoy said.

 

 “Hey!” Goyle exclaimed.  But Malfoy just rolled his eyes at the large boy.  Callidus looked over at Goyle.  The quiet boy’s eyes were furrowed, and his mouth was downturned.  He appeared rather upset, but Malfoy ignored him.

 

 “I’m going to find Crabbe,” Goyle grunted.  Malfoy glanced towards the large boy, and then shrugged, waving him off with a lofty gesture.

 

 “I think you hurt his feelings,” Harry said disapprovingly, after Goyle was gone.

 

 “I doubt Crabbe and Goyle have feelings to hurt,” Malfoy replied, but upon seeing Harry’s expression and crossed arms, he huffed.  “Fine, I’ll speak to them later.”

 

They boys fell into a silence, and for a while, they watched the passing landscape.  The hillsides were green, and the sky was a perfect blue, dotted with fluffy clouds.

 

It was Harry who eventually broke the silence.  “So - do you know a lot of other witches or wizards, aside from - erm - Crabbe and Goyle?”  

 

 “Oh, lots!” Malfoy replied, eager to speak of his social connections.  “There’s Pansy Parkinson, Theodore Nott, Daphne Greengrass, Blaise Zabini.”

 

Callidus recognized a few of the surnames from his readings - it appeared as though most of Malfoy’s acquaintances were purebloods.

 

 “Do you know a family of red-head wizards?” Harry asked, thinking of the family that helped him across the barrier at the train station.

 

 “Might be the Weasleys,” Malfoy replied.  “My father told me about them.  We don’t associate with their sort.”  His voice held a touch of disdain.

 

 “What sort is that?” Harry asked, his voice sounding guarded once again.

 

Noticing Harry’s defensiveness, Malfoy tried to backtrack.  “Well - er - my father calls them riffraff.”

 

Both Harry and Callidus had narrowed their eyes at Malfoy, and the boy was beginning to look distinctly uncomfortable.  His ears had pinkened, and he was conscious that he was without his two bodyguard-friends, Crabbe and Goyle.

 

 “But that’s just my father’s opinion!” Malfoy added quickly.  “I don’t know them myself.  I’m sure they’re perfectly nice - er - people.”

 

 “I’m sure they are,” Harry said firmly.  “They were very kind to me.”

 

 “Is that your first time forming your own opinion?” Callidus drawled at Malfoy.  Malfoy looked like he wanted to snap a reply, but a glance at Harry caused him to change his mind.

 

Callidus wondered what Malfoy would have said in response if he had had Crabbe and Goyle to back him up.  Without the two hulking boys, Malfoy did not have much defences of his own.  After all, he was rather small and frail-looking.  But then again, so too was Harry and Callidus.  It was just that Harry and Callidus were on the same side, while Malfoy was all alone.

 

The silence returned once again.  Harry and Callidus were content to watch the fields full of livestock.  Malfoy squirmed and fidgeted.  The blond kept looking towards Harry, and then looking away.  Callidus almost wanted to laugh.  It was obvious that Malfoy was used to getting whatever he wanted.  His parents had spoiled him rotten.  Malfoy seemed keen to befriend Harry, but from everything Callidus knew about Harry, Harry wasn’t a person that could be bought.  If Malfoy wanted to be Harry’s friend, he would have to somehow prove himself worthy of that friendship.  Thus far, Callidus didn’t think he was doing too well.


	6. Chapter 6

Close to noon, their attention was caught by a clatter outside the corridor.  The door to their compartment slid open.  There was a woman beyond, pushing a food cart laden with treats.  She smiled cheerfully, her cheeks dimpling.

 

 “Anything off the carts, dears?” she asked.

 

Harry leapt up, eager for food.  Having had a rather large breakfast at Hogwarts, Callidus wasn’t feeling very hungry.

 

 “Three of everything,” Malfoy called out.  “For all of us to share.  Oh, and the large box of Chocolate Frogs.  My treat, of course.”

 

Harry was surprised by Malfoy’s generosity.  Callidus, however, was suspicious.  He didn’t think this was a gift.  More like a favour that Malfoy would want to reap the rewards of, later.  Malfoy paid the woman, who handed them their treats, which they set down on the empty seat next to Callidus.  There were Bertie Bott's Every Flavor Beans, Drooble's Best Blowing Gum, Chocolate Frogs. Pumpkin Pasties, Cauldron Cakes, Licorice Wands, and various other things that neither Harry nor Callidus had ever seen before.

 

 “Try the Chocolate Frogs,” Malfoy said.  “They’re my favourite.  Though I’ve already collected the whole set of cards.”

 

 “Cards?” Harry asked.  

 

 “Oh, I suppose you wouldn’t know, being raised by muggles and all.  Chocolate Frogs contain collectable cards of famous witches and wizards.  Go on, take a look.”

 

Callidus and Harry both unwrapped their Chocolate Frogs.  Callidus’s card contained Gifford Ollerton (Famous Giant slayer, killed the giant Hengist of Upper Barnton), and Harry got Albus Dumbledore.  As for Malfoy, his card contained Dzou Yen, who was a Chinese alchemist.

 

 “This one’s pretty rare,” said Malfoy.  “Do you want it?”  He held the card towards Harry.

 

 “Uh - sure, thanks,” Harry replied, smiling weakly at Malfoy.  Harry seemed more fascinated by the moving figures on the cards then he did with the chocolate itself.  Callidus, who had grown accustomed to seeing moving portraits, was not as enraptured as Harry was with the Chocolate Frog Cards.

 

The boys managed to make their way through the entire mound of treats (except for a few of the Every Flavour Beans which looked questionable).  Sated on sugar, Harry and Malfoy both seemed more relaxed in each other’s company.  Malfoy was describing the joys of flying to Harry when there was a knock on their compartment.  The round-faced boy that they had seen earlier asked them if any of them had seen a toad.

 

Malfoy looked as though he wanted to sneer at the boy, but having caught Harry’s warning look first, the blond somehow held himself back.

 

 “Sorry, we haven’t seen a toad anywhere,” Harry replied.

 

 “Have you tried a summoning spell?” Callidus asked.

 

 “A summoning spell?  I can hardly even get my wand to spark,” the round-faced boy said mournfully.  “Well, If you see him -”  The boy shut the compartment door behind him as he left.

 

 “Summoning spell?”  Harry asked.  “Could you really summon a toad?”

 

 “I read about the spell in a book - I haven’t actually tried it yet.  Dumbledore wouldn’t let me use my wand over the summer,” Callidus replied.

 

 “Why wouldn’t Dumbledore let you?” Malfoy asked, puzzled.  “What’s he got to do with whether you can use your wand or not?”

 

“Oh, I was staying at Hogwarts over the summer,” Callidus explained.  While it was tempting to keep jabbing at Malfoy, the boy seemed to be trying to be nice.

 

 “Really?  I thought students weren’t permitted to stay at Hogwarts over the summer,” Malfoy replied with an expression of doubt.  Callidus shrugged.  It was probably true - he hadn’t seen any students while he was there.  But he wasn’t about to explain his circumstances to Malfoy.

 

 “Can you show me the summoning spell?  I haven’t had chance to try any spells yet,” said Harry.  Even Malfoy brightened at the suggestion of attempting magic.

 

 “Alright - but it’s a fourth year spell, so don’t be surprised if you can’t get it to work.  The incantation is _Accio_ and the wand movement is like this.”  Callidus moved the wand in a rainbow-like arc.  “It’s important to have the object clearly in mind.  We could try with - oh - perhaps the Chocolate Frog cards.”

 

The three boys pulled out their wands, and with intense concentration, they uttered _Accio_ over and over, fixated on the cards.

 

 “I think I got it to twitch!” Malfoy crowed.  But Callidus hadn’t seen any of the cards twitch at all, and said so.  This earned him a sore look from Malfoy.  All three of them were so intent on attempting to summon the Chocolate Frog cards that they jumped when the compartment door opened again.

 

  "Has anyone seen a toad? Neville's lost one," said the girl at the entryway in a bossy voice.  She was with the round-faced boy.  She had bushy brown hair that reminded Callidus a bit of Hagrid’s shaggy locks, and rather large front teeth.

 

 “Hasn’t anyone ever taught you to knock?” Malfoy snapped with irritation.  Probably because he had failed to get the cards to ‘twitch’ again, and was starting to give himself a headache from trying.

 

But the girl paid him no heed.  “Oh, are you doing magic then? Let’s see it.”  She looked at the three of them expectantly.

 

 “We’re not here to provide you with a show,” Malfoy sneered.  Plus, none of them wanted to admit that they couldn’t get the spell to work.

 

 “I've already tried a few simple spells just for practice and it's all worked for me. Nobody in my family's magic at all, it was ever such a surprise when I got my letter, but I was ever so pleased, of course, I mean, it's the very best school of witchcraft there is, I've heard - I've learned all our course books by heart, of course, I just hope it will be enough - I'm Hermione Granger, by the way, who are you.” This was all said very fast.

 

Harry looked bewildered.  Malfoy was incredulous and perhaps disgusted, while Callidus was annoyed.  She had learned all her course books by heart?  Ha.  Regardless of whether she had memorized her textbooks or not, Callidus was determined to do better than her in classes.  There was no way he’d let some bushy haired nag get the better of him.

 

 “I’m Harry Potter,” Harry said.

 

Callidus glowered, while Malfoy looked like a bird had just pooped on his perfectly polished shoes.

 

 “Are you really?" said Hermione. "I know all about you, of course - I got a few extra books. for background reading, and you're in _Modern Magical History_ and _The Rise and Fall of the Dark Arts_ and _Great Wizarding Events of the Twentieth Century_.”

 

Harry looked dazed.  Malfoy and Callidus were both growing increasingly irritated.  Especially the way the girl claimed to know ‘all about’ Harry, based on what she had read.  

 

 “Mudbloods,” Malfoy muttered.  Callidus couldn’t hear much more except for the words “-hopelessly uncouth.”

 

 “What did you say?” the girl said, her voice rising.

 

 “What makes you think I have anything to say to someone so ill-bred?” Malfoy spat out.

 

Offended by his scornful tone, Hermione sputtered.  “Ill-bred?”

 

 “Oh, is that an echo I hear?” Malfoy added maliciously.

 

Hermione opened her mouth and raised her finger, only to close it again.

 

 “Well, since it looks like you’ve exhausted the extent of your vocabulary, perhaps you’d best be off,” Callidus drawled.  He had had enough of listening to the garrulous windbag acting like she had any claim on Harry.

 

The girl narrowed her eyes at him, while the round-faced boy looked like he wished he were anywhere else but here.

 

 “Were the words I used too big for you to understand?  How about this:  Go Away,” Callidus said coldly.

 

With an angry huff, the girl slid the compartment shut with such force that it banged.  Malfoy was looking at Callidus with something akin to admiration.  Harry still looked bewildered.

 

 “Well - that was - something -” said Harry, staring at the closed door.  He turned his attention back to Malfoy and Callidus.  “You two were kind of mean to her.”  He sounded reproachful.  But neither Callidus nor Malfoy were repentant.

 

 “She shouldn’t have spoken to you that way,” said Callidus.  “As though she believes everything she read in a book.  The authors who wrote the book never even met you!”

 

 “I guess so,” Harry replied, but he seemed uncertain.  Harry turned to Malfoy  “So - what’s a mudblood?”

 

Malfoy looked at Harry his pale face became downright translucent.  It was evident that Harry meant it as an innocent question.  Harry had no idea that ‘mudblood’ was a terrible epithet used to describe muggleborns.  But if Malfoy explained the insult, then he’d have to explain that he just made a slur against Harry’s mother whom everyone knew was a muggleborn.  Callidus’s expression remained neutral, but inside, he was gloating.  The foolish blond had slipped up.

 

 “It’s - er - well - it’s one of way of saying muggleborn,” Malfoy stammered out faltering under Harry’s green eyes.

 

 ‘Coward,’ Callidus thought (even though, in the similar circumstances, he might do the same thing.  Callidus didn’t know the measure of his own courage.)

 

 “It’s an insulting way to describe muggleborns,” Callidus clarified.  He kept his tone neutral, not looking over at Malfoy.  Callidus didn’t care for the blond, but he’d prefer to let Harry draw his own conclusions about Malfoy’s character.

 

Harry frowned, as he thought over the words ‘mud’ and ‘blood’ applied to muggleborn witches and wizards.  His lips were pursed, and Harry looked unhappy.

 

 “Why would you say something like that?” Harry asked accusingly, not taking his eyes off of Malfoy.

 

Malfoy looked panicked.  He had no answer on hand for his behaviour.  But he also looked remorseful.  Callidus had a feeling that the blond didn’t regret his words - only regretted upsetting Harry, whom he clearly wanted as a friend.

 

 “I - er -” as Malfoy stumbled, Callidus wondered whether he would apologize.  Had Malfoy ever had to apologize for anything in his life?

 

 “Maybe you should go,” Harry said softly.

 

 “I’m sorry!” Malfoy blurted out.  “I didn’t mean it!”  Callidus didn’t believe him.  Well, he believed Malfoy was sorry, but he also thought that Malfoy meant to say ‘mudblood.’  He was also surprised that the blond was capable of apologizing.

 

Harry bit his lower as he considered Malfoy’s words.  Unlike Callidus, Harry was more likely to offer someone a second chance.  “Fine.  But if you say it again, I don’t want you around me.”  After hearing Harry’s pronouncement, Malfoy could only nod.  Callidus huffed.  Harry was too nice.  But then again, Lily had a forgiving personality as well.

 

The boys fell into a heavy silence.  Malfoy still looked upset.  Harry appeared indifferent, and watched the landscape with interest.  But before long, there was a knock on their compartment door.  It slid open to reveal a pair of girls that neither Harry nor Callidus had seen before.  One of the girls had dark brown hair with an upturned nose, and the other girl had dark blonde hair, with cool grey eyes.

 

 “Draco,” the dark-haired girl simpered. “Vincent and Gregory said that you were here.  Aren’t you going to introduce us to your your new friends?”

 

 “Pansy, Daphne” said Malfoy, looking a bit irritated but also a bit guilty. “This is Harry Potter.  Oh, and Callidus Prince.  Prince, Potter, this is Pansy Parkinson and Daphne Greengrass.”

 

Both girls only gave a cursory nod to Callidus before turning their attention over to Harry.

 

 “We’ve heard all about you, Harry,” the dark-haired Pansy Parkinson said.  Her gaze rested on his forehead, as though seeking out the lighting-bolt scar.  But then she turned her attention back to Malfoy.  “Draco, you really hurt Gregory you know.”

 

 “Not you too!” Malfoy whinged, already feeling like he had been raked through coals all day.  “I’ll talk to him about it later.”

 

 “You’re the famous Harry Potter?” said Daphne Greengrass, the dark blonde girl.

 

 “Er - I suppose, so,” said Harry, still uncomfortable with his fame.  Plus, the two girls were watching him like a pair of hungry hyenas moving in for a kill.

 

 “You suppose?” Parkinson sniggered.  “Are you, or aren’t you?”

 

 “Pansy -” Malfoy said, with a tone of warning, and steely eyes.  Parkinson looked over at Malfoy, and then sniffed snobbishly, but she kept her mouth shut.  But Harry smiled at Malfoy with gratitude, and Malfoy looked stupidly happy (or so Callidus thought).

 

 “You must have that scar then,” Greengrass said, glancing at his forehead.  Unlike Pansy, Draco hadn’t warned Daphne Greengrass off, and the girl wanted to sate her desire for gossip.

 

 “I have scars.”

 

 “I mean, that one on your forehead.  From the killing curse,” Greengrass continued.  Harry just frowned.

 

 “You’re being rather impolite,” Malfoy said to Greengrass pointedly.  Greengrass only shrugged, and her smile said ‘I don’t care.’

 

 “So what was it like, defeating the Dark - uh - You-Know-Who?” Greengrass asked Harry, when it was evident that he wouldn’t show his scar.

 

 “Erm - well, it happened when I was just a baby,” Harry replied, squirming under the two girl’s indiscreet interest.  Callidus frowned.  Really, they were just as bad as that Hermione-girl, though in an entirely different way.  Didn’t it occur to them that the day Voldemort was destroyed was also the day Harry’s parents were killed?  Or did they not care?

 

 “Surely you remember something,” Daphne prodded.

 

 “Well then, pray, tell us all about your memories when you were a one year old,” Callidus cut in.  “Though, judging by your fatuous behaviour, it’d be remarkable if you remembered what you did yesterday, let alone ten years ago.”

 

Greengrass’s grey eyes flashed at the insult.  She looked over at Malfoy expectantly.  “Are you going to let him speak to me that way, Draco?”

 

Malfoy looked like a fieldmouse, caught between a fox and an owl.  “You shouldn’t have been so rude,” Draco said weakly.  

 

Daphne let out a squeak of irritation.  “Let’s go Pansy,” she said, dragging her friend by the arm.  Parkinson looked as though she wanted to protest.  But upon seeing her friend’s furious expression, she allowed herself to get pulled away.  When they were gone, Malfoy slid the compartment door closed again.

 

 “What did you say that for?” Malfoy asked Callidus with exasperation.  “She’s probably going to write home to her parents to tell them all about what happened, and then her parents are going to tell my parents and then - Arg!”

 

 “If it bothers you so much, then shouldn’t you have defended her?” Callidus asked.

 

 “Well - she was being pretty annoying, talking to Potter that way,” Malfoy muttered.  Callidus raised an eyebrow.  Did Malfoy have no self-awareness at all?  Harry, who noticed Callidus’s expression snickered.  Malfoy may have fancied himself as some sort of pureblood princeling, but he was just another eleven year old boy (and a childish one at that, for all his manners.)  It was difficult to take someone seriously when their behaviour was so puerile.

 

Soon, they were almost at Hogwarts.  The sky had darkened, and the view outside their window showed mountains and forests.  The boys all put on their new school robes in preparation for their arrival.  When they felt the train stop, the three boys shared a look.  Harry and Callidus both felt nervous.  Even the Malfoy had lost his arrogant expression, and looked a touch uncertain.

 

The students pushed their way off the train and onto the dark platform outside.  Both Harry and Callidus turned their heads when they heard Hagrid’s familiar voice, calling: “Firs’ years,  Firs' years over here! All right there, Harry, Cal?"

 

Hagrid’s eyes crinkled as Harry and Callidus smiled up at him.  His familiar face had calmed their anxieties.

 

 "C'mon, follow me - any more firs' years? Mind yer step, now! Firs' years follow me!"  Hagrid bellowed.

 

They were taken down a dark, steep and narrow path.  Harry stepped with silent care, while behind him, Callidus could hear Malfoy quietly cursing and complaining.  As they rounded a bend, they caught sight of Hogwarts, glittering across an onyx lake.  It was the first time Callidus had seen Hogwarts from this angle, and it took his breath away.  Hogwarts castle was just as impressive from a distance as it was up close.  All the windows seemed to be lit, and the turrets and towers proudly pierced the sky.

 

The first year crossed the lake in small boats.  Callidus, Harry, Malfoy, and another boy named Blaise Zabini shared a boat.  Callidus was afraid that he’d get motion sick.  To his surprise, the boat glided smoothly across the lake, with hardly a bump.  Much better than travelling by thestral.  Or Side-Along Apparition.  Or even Floo.  

 

Unlike the train, Callidus sat next to Harry on the boat.  When they were floating along on their way, Harry leaned towards Callidus.

 

 “What does fatuous mean?” Harry whispered.  If Callidus could have seen in the dark, he would have noticed Harry’s flushed cheeks.  Harry was uncomfortable admitting to his ignorance.  But Harry trusted Callidus enough to know that the other boy wouldn’t mock him for not knowing.  It had been evident from their summer letters that Callidus enjoyed explaining things.

 

 “It means foolish or silly,” Callidus replied softly.

 

 “Am I going to have to know words like that?  Everyone’s going to think I’m such an idiot for not understanding,” Harry lamented.

 

 “You’ll be alright,” Callidus replied, trying to reassure Harry.  “I know a lot more words than most people because I like to read.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> They're so mean to Hermione :( She'll be important later on, so things may or may not change.


	7. Chapter 7

They were taken to an underground harbour, and from there, up a flight of stone steps that led to the entrance hall.  After Hagrid pounded on the grand doors to the entrance hall, the doors swung open and they were greeted by a witch in emerald-green robes.  Callidus recognized the stern, black-haired Professor McGonagall.  Though she was greeting a group of apprehensive first years, her thin lips did not tilt up into a smile.  But Callidus could see that her eyes glimmered with warmth.

 

Most of the first years were gawking at their surroundings, but Callidus spent more time examining the other students instead.  Blaise Zabini, the boy who shared the boat with them, carried himself with a practiced coldness.  Whereas most of the other students were awestruck, Zabini acted unruffled.  He spotted the dark blonde Daphne Greengrass, who narrowed her eyes at him.  He had a feeling that she was probably a vindictive girl.  He’d have to keep an eye on her.  He also spotted Hermione Granger, who was talking the ear off another student.  The student looked a bit pained, to have to be subjected to Granger’s know-it-all monologue.

 

The first years were lead into a small empty chamber off the Hall.  McGonagall told them about the Hogwarts Houses and the Sorting Ceremony.  After that, she left the chamber.  From his understanding, all the older students would be witnessing the Sorting.  Callidus didn’t relish the idea of being sorted in front of a crowd.  But in the end, all he really cared about was being sorted into the same House as Harry.  Yes, he would have preferred to be in Slytherin, but for some reason, being near Harry seemed more important.  Perhaps it was because he had lost his entire family, and Lily as well.  It made him more aware of how precious (some rare few) people could be. 

 

 “How exactly do they sort us into houses?" Harry asked Callidus.

 

It was Malfoy who answered. “My father told me all about it.  They have an old magical hat that reads your mind and tells you what House you belong in.”  Malfoy smiled smugly, feeling more comfortable in his position as the ‘knowledgeable one.’  Callidus rolled his eyes.  But since Malfoy kept his attention on Harry rather than Callidus, he failed to notice.

 

 “It reads your mind?” Harry asked, amazed.  But before Malfoy could get another word in, a large group of ghosts floated into the room.

 

Callidus, Harry and Malfoy all knew about the ghosts, so none of them let out shrieks of alarm.  But Harry had never actually seen a ghost before.  His face showed a mix of uneasiness and fascination.

 

 “It feels creepy and cold if they float through you,” Callidus informed Harry.  This piece of information caused Harry to shiver.

 

Before long, Professor McGonagall returned, and led the students into the Great Hall.  Callidus had been in the Great Hall all throughout the summer, but this was his first time seeing it full of students.  It was also his first time, seeing it lit with hundreds and hundreds of floating candles.  The four long tables that ran the length of the Great Hall were divided among the four Houses.  It made the hairs on Callidus’s neck and arm rise to be aware of so many eyes on him.  

 

The Head Table where the professors sat was a more familiar sight to Callidus.  But there were many more Professors sitting there, that Callidus didn’t recognize.  He glanced over towards the diminutive Professor Flitwick, who winked at him.  When he looked towards the Headmaster, Dumbledore was wearing blue robes embroidered with shining stars and moons.  Dumbledore gave him a warm smile, and his eyes spoke of a secret amusement.

 

Professor McGonagall brought out a stool, and the old, patched Sorting Hat.  The hat twitched, before breaking into a song about the four Houses of Hogwarts.  When Callidus heard the verse about Slytherin, he frowned.  

 

Or perhaps in Slytherin 

You'll make your real friends, 

Those cunning folk use any means 

To achieve their ends. 

 

The hat mentioned many more traits about the other houses.  That it only said that Slytherins were cunning struck Callidus as biased.  But finally, the song was over, with a burst of applause, and the sorting could begin.  Professor McGonagall had a long scrolling list of the first year students, and it was from this list that she called their names.

 

As the Hat began sorting students, Callidus observed the crowd (or more specifically, the Slytherins).  He didn’t care too much about his other peers.  It did interest him that ‘Crabbe, Vincent’ (one of Malfoy’s bodyguard-friends) ended up in Hufflepuff.  When Callidus glanced over at Malfoy, the boy looked shocked.  Callidus smirked.  It seems that Malfoy didn’t ‘talk to’ his friends after all, and soothe their upset feelings.  Then when ‘Granger, Hermione’ came up, he was grateful that she got sorted into Gryffindor.  Life would be insufferable if he were stuck in the same House as her.

 

‘Greengrass, Daphne’ was sorted into Slytherin.  The girl tilted her head up with pride as she strutted towards the applauding Slytherin table.  Callidus watched her with narrowed eyes.  ‘Goyle, Gregory’ also got sorted into Hufflepuff.  At that, Callidus snorted with amusement.  Malfoy just looked mad.  It was as though he thought that the two boys had betrayed him (even though Malfoy was the one who hurt their feelings in the first place, and then failed to apologize.)  ‘Serves that spoiled brat, right,’ Callidus thought.  Callidus looked away from Malfoy and glanced over at Harry, who looked terribly nervous.

 

 “Are you alright?” he whispered to Harry.

 

 “What if the Hat doesn’t sort me?” Harry replied, looking pale.  Callidus pursed his lips as he considered Harry’s concerns.

 

 “I think you’re clever.  Clever enough for Slytherin.  Cleverer than Malfoy at least,” Callidus lowered his voice as he said this, but flicked a glance at Malfoy, who glared at him suspiciously.  Callidus smirked.

 

 “Well - “ Harry bit his lower lip.

 

 “You’ll be okay,” Callidus reassured him.  “It’d be great if we were in Slytherin together.”

 

‘Malfoy, Draco,’ ended up in Slytherin, just as he hoped.  The Sorting Hat had scarcely even touched his head before making a declaration.  Malfoy flicked a glance at Callidus, looking pleased with himself.  When he looked over at Harry, his expression was more hopeful.  ‘Nott, Theodore,’ and ‘Parkinson, Pansy’ both ended up in Slytherin as well.  Callidus grimaced upon hearing Pansy Parkinson’s name - she and Greengrass were not a pleasant pair.

 

Then, it was ‘Potter, Harry.’  As Harry stepped forward, the whole Hall broke into whispers.  Callidus couldn’t help feeling bad for Harry.

 

 “Good luck,” he whispered to the messy-haired boy, who nodded.  As Harry sat on the stool, he gripped the edge of it, as though hanging on for dear life.  The Hat took a while to deliberate.  Callidus kept repeating the mantra: ‘Please put him in Slytherin, Please put him in Slytherin.’

 

When the Sorting hat called out “SLYTHERIN!” Callidus broke into a wide grin.  He wasn’t the sort of person who grinned, so it made his cheeks uncomfortable.  But he was thrilled that Harry was in Slytherin.  Harry shot Callidus a relieved smile before trotting off towards the Slytherin Table.  Malfoy had cleared a spot for Harry.  The blond seemed to only have eyes for the messy-haired boy.  He could see Malfoy saying something to Harry, which caused the dark-haired boy to smile.  Callidus scowled at Malfoy with annoyance. 

 

 “Prince, Callidus!” Professor McGonagall called.  Callidus stepped up to the stool, and sat down.  McGonagall placed the Hat upon his head.

 

 “Hmm,” the voice of the Hat hummed.  “You’ve done this before haven’t you?  And yet, in a way, you haven’t.  You’ve changed, it seems - you may think you know what you are, but you aren’t what you were.  A brilliant mind.  You’d do well in Ravenclaw.  But a strong protective streak as well.  And a loyal heart.”

 

 “Slytherin,” Callidus thought.  “I want to be in Slytherin.”

 

 “Are you quite certain?” the Hat asked.  “Ah, I suppose with your ambition, it’s probably for the best.  Better be SLYTHERIN!”

 

Relieved, Callidus removed the Hat, and made his way towards the applauding Slytherin table.  Harry was clapping enthusiastically.  Malfoy’s clap was rather limp.  Daphne Greengrass was not clapping at all.  Callidus was congratulated by an older girl with chestnut coloured hair, who introduced herself as Gemma Farley (“I’m one of the prefects,” she explained.  “Feel free to ask me any questions if you need any help.”)  He sat down next to Harry, who was grinned with happiness and relief.

 

 “It looked like it took the Hat a while to decide,” Harry said.  “What did it say to you?”

 

 “It thought I’d do well in Ravenclaw - but I think it was hinting that it was considering Gryffindor.  Thank Merlin that that didn’t happen,” Callidus replied.  “What about you?”

 

 “Same,” Harry confessed.  The boys looked back towards the rest of the students being sorted.  There was one more students sorted into Slytherin: the chilly ‘Zabini, Blaise.’

 

Once all the students were sorted, Dumbledore got to his feet, with a wide smile on his face.  

 

 "Welcome," he said. "Welcome to a new year at Hogwarts! Before we begin our banquet, I would like to say a few words. And here they are: Nitwit! Blubber! Oddment! Tweak!”

 

Callidus shook his head.  Daft old man.  Harry looked amused but also puzzled.

 

 “Is he - mad?” Harry asked.

 

 “Clearly,” Malfoy drawled.  Sitting amongst the other Slytherins, Malfoy looked like he was in his element.  “My father thinks Dumbledore is the worst to ever happen to Hogwarts.”

 

 “Really?  Why?” Before Malfoy could explain, food had magically appeared on the table.

 

Harry’s eyes widened with amazement.  Even Callidus was stunned by the sight before him.  The meals he had eaten over the summer had always been more modest.  This was the first time he had ever seen such an immense abundance of food.

 

Harry began to load food on his plate with unbridled enthusiasm.  Several of the other Slytherins gave Harry odd looks, but none of them commented.  Harry was famous after all - the other Slytherins weren’t keen on antagonizing him, until they knew more of his strengths (or more precisely, his weaknesses.)

 

 “As I was about to say -” Malfoy began.

 

 “What?” Harry replied, too busy buttering a fragrant dinner roll.  Malfoy pursed his lips.

 

 “You’re acting like an underfed hound hoarding a mound of scraps.  Did those muggles not feed you?” Malfoy asked, sounding a bit pained.  Callidus got the impression that the blond was embarrassed.

 

 “Well - er - not really, I suppose.  Sometimes they did,” Harry replied.  He seemed taken aback by the look on Malfoy’s face.  In fact, Harry suddenly noticed Malfoy’s whole demeanour had changed now that he was surrounded by his peers.  Gone was the insecure boy, and in his place was the aristocratic pureblood heir.  It left Harry feeling a bit bewildered.

 

Malfoy frowned.  “That’s appalling.  Those muggles ought to be thrown into Azkaban.”

 

 “Azkaban?” Harry asked, before biting into his buttered bread.

 

 “Wizarding Prison,” Malfoy replied.  “But anyway, if you want to do well here in Slytherin, we’re going to have to work on your polish, Potter.”

 

 “What do you mean?” Harry asked as he chewed on his bread.

 

 “Don’t speak with your mouth full,” Malfoy ordered before adding  “I mean your manners.  As friends now, I think I’d be well suited to teaching you.  Don’t worry, I’m quite qualified.  The Malfoys are known for their refinement, you know.”

 

Harry suddenly reddened, looking around the table.  Callidus did the same.  Being raised by Tobias Snape had meant a cold, dangerous silence at the dinner table, but Tobias had cared nothing for table manners. 

 

 “While you’re helping Harry Potter, you might want to consider working on Prince,” Daphne Greengrass said with mock sweetness from across the table.  “Watching him try and eat is putting me off of my food.”

 

Pansy Parkinson and a few other first year Slytherins sniggered, and Callidus scowled, losing his appetite.  Harry glared at them, before turning back to Malfoy. 

 

 “Is it really that important?” Harry asked, furrowing his brow with concern.  It didn’t occur to either Harry or Callidus that they would have to worry about such things while they were at school.  

 

 “Of course!” Malfoy exclaimed.  “You wouldn’t want to come across as a boorish Gryffindor, would you?”

 

 “Er - what’s so bad about that?” Harry asked.  That seemed to draw the stares of everyone at the table.  Harry’s flush deepened.  “Uh - nevermind.  I guess.”  Harry looked unsettled.  He gave Callidus an accusing look, as though Callidus was the one responsible for this extra burden.

 

 ‘I didn’t know,’ Callidus mouthed silently, his expression as dismayed as Harry.  Harry sighed and then turned back to Malfoy.

 

 “So what do I need to do first, Draco?” Harry asked with a heavy sigh, taking his hands on off the table and setting them on his lap.

 

Draco’s eyes widened, and his ears pinkened.  “Oh - I suppose we can go on a first name basis now.  We  _ are _ friends, so it’s acceptable - uh Harry.  Hm - well, to begin, sit up straight.  Don’t hunch over your food like a troglodyte.”

 

 “Troglo - what?”

 

 “Caveman,” Callidus muttered.  Greengrass’s eyes were shining with malicious mirth.  The other Slytherins seemed all too fascinated by the proceedings.  

 

Malfoy continued to explain the intricacies of pureblood table manners as they ate.  The blond seemed to enjoy teaching, but when his tone got too imperious, Harry would glare at him, and Malfoy would quickly back down.  From Harry’s other side, Callidus listened to Malfoy’s instructions, doing his best to mimic him.  It was hard to enjoy the feast while fretting about etiquette at the same time.  And while Malfoy might have been more than happy to help Harry, he ignored Callidus.

 

But Callidus was intelligent.  Even without Malfoy’s direct guidance, he was quick to pick up on, and remember details.  Of course, it was different to know something in theory as opposed to being able to actually practice it.  Eating had never felt so awkward.  To make it worse, Greengrass wouldn’t stop staring at him, waiting for Callidus to slip up.

 

 “You seem to have a hard time looking away, Greengrass,” Callidus snapped, once his irritation grew too great to contain.  “Liking what you see?”

 

 “No!” Greengrass exclaimed, scowling before looking away.  “You’re so hideous that I can barely stand to be near you.”

 

 “Oh?  Your behaviour says otherwise,” Callidus replied silkily, which drew laughter from the others.  Greengrass turned her nose up at him, but Callidus felt he had gotten the better of her. 

 

Aside from Pansy Parkinson, Greengrass, Theodore Nott and Blaise Zabini, the other first year Slytherins included Tracey Davis and Millicent Bulstrode.  Millicent reminded Callidus of a female version of Crabbe and Goyle.  As for Tracey, she was nearly as hard to read as Zabini.  The girl had straight brown hair the same length as Callidus’s.  She wore oval glasses, and she didn’t seem to know the other first year Slytherins.  Her eyes were a guarded grey, not cool and composed like Blaise, but defensive.

 

 “Can you believe Vincent and Gregory got sorted into Hufflepuff?” He heard Pansy Parkinson say from across the table.  This caused the first years to look towards the Hufflepuff table where Crabbe and Goyle sat.  The two, thickset boys looked to be happily eating everything they could get their hands on at Hufflepuff table.  Neither of them seemed put out to have been sorted into the Badger House.  They didn’t even feel the stares of the Slytherins.  The two boys were too immersed in the gastronomic delights in front of them.

 

 “I can’t help thinking that this is your fault, Draco,” Parkinson continued with an affected tone of reproach.  “You never did apologize to Gregory, did you?  And that boy does so looks up to you.  Really, what were you thinking?  Gregory might not be the cleverest of wizards, but he’s quite sensitive, you know.”

 

Malfoy huffed, feeling rather cross to be scolded yet again about Gregory Goyle.  “Just leave it, Pansy.”

 

 “Come now, Draco - you’ve known Vincent and Gregory since childhood.  They used to follow you around like father’s deerhounds,” Parkinson continued. 

 

 “It wouldn’t hurt to apologize,” Harry added in, his green eyes guileless.  Malfoy opened his mouth to protest, but something about Harry’s puppy-dog like expression shut him up.

 

 “Fine - whatever,” Malfoy muttered, glaring at Parkinson.  He knew the dark-haired girl was purposely just trying to rile him up.  It was Parkinson’s nature to poke at uncomfortable things.  But then Harry smiled, and Malfoy’s irritation seemed to vanish.

 

Callidus watched the interactions around him with interest.  He was used to having to read the moods of his mother and father, and he did the same now with the Slytherins.  It was almost instinctive for him to try and seek out the weaknesses of others.  His habits had protected him well when he was forced into the muggle primary school.  The other children might have mocked and hated him, but they didn’t dare lay a finger on him.  Not when Callidus/Severus had known how to poke a sharp blade into their soft underbellies.

 

Here in Slytherin, Callidus was at a disadvantage because he had no family and no connections.  Callidus knew he had to find a way to equalize the situation.  He had a feeling that magical children would be capable of much more brutality than simple muggles.  At the same time, Callidus felt a need to watch over Harry.  The more time he spent with Harry, the more he got the sense that Harry was an open book.  Though Callidus was surrounded by first years, he could already see the calculation in the eyes of the other Slytherins.  But no so with Harry.

 

 “Ouch!” Harry suddenly exclaimed, distracting Callidus from his thoughts.  Harry was holding his hand over his scar, and Callidus felt a flutter of unease.  Callidus was no stranger to scars.  And for the most part, scars did not hurt for no reason.  From his readings, Callidus knew that Harry’s lightning bolt scar was where Voldemort had aimed the killing curse at him.  Dumbledore hadn’t mentioned anything about Harry’s scar, but Callidus got the impression that the scar was more than just a mark.

 

 “What’s wrong?” both Callidus and Malfoy asked.

 

 “N - nothing,” Harry replied, but Callidus had noticed the way he had glanced toward the Head Table.  Callidus looked towards the row of teachers.  None of them appeared to be doing anything suspicious.  

 

Their attention was pulled away from Harry as the food vanished from their table, and dessert appeared.  At some point, the Slytherin ghost (known as the Bloody Baron) drifted by and decided to take a seat next to Malfoy.  The first years could hardly pull their eyes away from the Baron’s bloodstained clothes, and heavy chains.  Most of them looked too pale and uncomfortable to manage dessert.

 

 “What’s the proper etiquette for dealing with ghosts, Malfoy?” Callidus asked the blond with mock innocence.   Malfoy looked miserable having the ghost sitting next to him.  He glared at Callidus resentfully, while inching closer to Harry.

 

Dessert soon disappeared, and Professor Dumbledore got to his feet.  The Hall quieted as the students turned to look at him.

 

  "Ahern - just a few more words now that we are all fed and watered. I have a few start-of-term notices to give you.  First years should note that the forest on the grounds is forbidden to all pupils. And a few of our older students would do well to remember that as well." 

 

Dumbledore seemed to twinkle at a pair of red-headed Gryffindor students as he said this.  Callidus glanced over at the twin boys, who gave toothy grins that promised mischief.

 

  “Those two are such nightmares,” he heard the prefect Gemma Farley mutter.  

 

  "I have also been asked by Mr. Filch, the caretaker, to remind you all that no magic should be used between classes in the corridors,” the headmaster continued.  “Quidditch trials will be held in the second week of the term. Anyone interested in playing for their house teams should contact Madam Hooch.  And finally, I must tell you that this year, the third-floor corridor on the right-hand side is out of bounds to everyone who does not wish to die a very painful death." 

 

Harry laughed, while Callidus narrowed his eyes.  He had a feeling the old man was up to something.  But he shrugged, setting the thought aside.  His priorities this year were to get top marks - not look for trouble.

 

 “On a more pleasant note,” Dumbledore added.  “I’d like to introduce, or shall I say, welcome back our new (and old) Potions teacher, and Head of House for Slytherin, Professor Slughorn!”  

 

The students applauded, while Professor Slughorn dabbed his round face with a napkin and stood up, waving to the crowd.  Professor Horace Slughorn was enormously fat, bald, and quite old.  He was short of stature, and seemed to try and make up for height with girth.  He rather watery eyes and an enormous, walrus-like silver mustache.  The Professor was wearing lavish, but old-fashioned clothes.  He sat down, as the applause faded.  Callidus examined the man with a critical eye.  The rotund and smiling Slughorn was his adult-self’s replacement after all.  The man had an easy smile, but his fancy robes suggested vanity.  Callidus wondered how he would measure up.

 

Before bed, Dumbledore had the students sing the school song.  It was a terrible cacophony, and Callidus wondered whether the headmaster had made up the terrible lyrics on the spot.  But of course, Dumbledore showed a ridiculous amount of enthusiasm for the song.  Most of the other Slytherins looked as uncomfortable as he did with the racket.

 

 “And now, bedtime!  Off you trot!” Dumbledore declared.

 

The first years bunched around Gemma Farley like ducklings.  “No need to shove through this crowd like savages,” the prefect had said.  “Let the other Houses do that.”  Though her words were rather snooty, Farley’s eyes glimmered with amusement.  Once the bulk of the students were, gone, Farley led the young Slytherins out the hall.  They followed her through the corridors towards the Hogwarts dungeons.  

 

The main staircase that led down to the Hogwarts dungeon was broad with a high, arched ceiling.  When Callidus had climbed this staircase in the summer, it had seemed enormous.  The cold greyness of the stone had contrasted with the warmth of Hogwart’s magic.  But now, with a group of other students surrounding him, the space felt smaller.  What had felt like his solitary kingdom in the past two months was now invaded potential new friends and but also potential enemies.  

 

Callidus was familiar with many of the passages in the maze-like dungeons.  But it felt strange to be walking towards the Slytherin common room rather than to his adult-self’s chambers.  He would miss that space.  His adult-self might not have accomplished much in his life (Callidus didn’t see teaching as a great accomplishment), but at least he had decent taste in decor.  Despite all his explorations, Callidus hadn’t yet seen the Slytherin dungeons.  Like the other first years, it would be a novel experience.

 

The other first years were looking around with interest.  Different parts of the dungeons seemed to have been built by different architects.  Some of the corridors had a medieval catacomb-like quality: low ceilings, beige stones, and simple arches.  Other corridors appeared more gothic, with pointed arches, and elaborate masonry.  Finally, they came to a stone wall.  

 

  “The password is  _ Unitas _ ,” Farley told the waiting first years.  As soon as she said the word, a passageway was revealed.  Farley waited in the common room until all the first years had gathered around her. 

 

 “All here, little snakelets?  Alright.  The password changes fortnightly.  Be sure to check the noticeboard.  I shouldn’t have to tell you this, but students from other houses are forbidden from entering the Slytherin dungeons.  Girls dormitories are over there -” she pointed one way.  “And boys are over there,” she pointed the other way.  “Professor Slughorn, our new Head of House will probably be here soon to give you all a little talk.  But in the meantime, make yourselves comfortable.”

 

The first years looked at each other, before hesitantly separating.  The Slytherin common room was long, with a low ceilings and rough walls.  The windows looked out into the lake, but since night had fallen, all that could be seen was a murky obsidian blackness.  There were a number of button-tufted leather sofas throughout the common room in either black or dark green.  The furniture looked luxuriant and comfortable, in contrast to the dungeon-like atmosphere of the room.  Dark wood cupboards lined some of the walls.  Skulls were scattered throughout the room, looking like morbid sculptures.  There were also numerous tapestries.  Unlike the tapestries in adult-Severus’s chambers, these ones depicted Medieval Slytherins. 

 

Callidus looked upon the scene of the closest tapestry.  A Slytherin wizard in green robes was laughing maniacally, while a reddish curse was causing a muggle witch hunter’s skin to peel off.  The dusk-coloured sky showed a crimson moon.  It was quite dramatic.

 

 “Quintinus Gaunt, I believe,” Malfoy murmured, eyeing the tapestry.

 

 “He looks - scary,” Harry said, both fascinated and appalled by the scene.  The wizard in the tapestry sneered at Harry, before returning to his labours.

 

Malfoy chuckled.  “He wasn’t that bad.”  The Slytherin in the tapestry looked offended by Malfoy’s comment.  

 

They were interrupted from their observations by the entry of their Head of House, Professor Slughorn.  The man’s goose-berry coloured eyes appeared to light up when they landed on Harry.  His eyes crinkled with an easy smile.  When he noticed Callidus, he winked.  Callidus frowned.  He knew that Dumbledore had told the fat man his identity - Slughorn had taught his younger-self after all - but it was still annoying.  

 

 “Gather round now, Slytherins, Gather round!” He called out in a jovial voice.  The Slytherins all made their way to the entry of the common room, where Slughorn stood.  “It’s been an age, hasn’t it?  Ah, so many new faces, but familiar names, of course.  I can see that many of you are nearly asleep on your feet, so I’ll try and make this quick.”

 

The Head of House told them about a few of the school rules, library hours, and curfew.  He spoke about the Nobleness and Greatness of the Slytherin name, waxing rhapsodic on the virtues of good-connections and ambition.  

 

 “Keep up the good work and we’ll win the House Cup for a seventh year in a row!  I have no doubt that you’ll all do your best to live up to the Slytherin name.”  He continued.  The House cup was awarded to the House that had the most points at the end of the year.  Points were awarded for class performance, good deeds or Quidditch.  It was a matter of House pride to be able to win the House Cup.  Finally, Slughorn reached the end of his speech.  A few of the students listened keenly.  But many of them were too tired, and the end of his speech was met with relief.

 

The first year boys made their way towards their dormitory.  It contained five four poster beds with green silk hangings.  Between the beds were small tables, and each table had a chair.  There was a window that looked out to the lake, and they could hear the soft shushing sound of water outside.  The floor was covered with a lush green carpet, edged with silver coloured snakes.  In fact, as Callidus got a closer look, he noticed the posts of the four poster beds were coiling snakes as well.

 

Callidus chose one of the beds that was closest to the exit.  Next to him was Harry, and on Harry’s other side was Malfoy.  Blaise Zabini and Theodore Nott took the other two beds.  Callidus’s possessions had been placed in a trunk, and sat neatly at the end of his bed.

 

 “When I thought about living in a Castle, somehow, I never imagined it would be in the dungeons,” Harry murmured.  Callidus smirked.

 

 “I think you’ll come to like it,” Callidus replied.  “The dungeons have their own appeal.”

 

Harry smiled wryly.  “If you say so Cal.”

  
Though Callidus had spoken with confidence, in his heart, he couldn’t help but worry.  He knew that he had been pressuring Harry to join in him Slytherin.  And while he was pleased that Harry was here, now he felt a little quiver of doubt.  What if Harry hated it here in Slytherin?  Would he resent Callidus for pushing him towards this choice?  It was with these uneasy thoughts crowding his mind that Callidus drifted off to sleep.


	8. Chapter 8

The following morning, Callidus wondered how he would manage to survive another night sleeping in the same room with four other boys.  There were whimpers, and snores.  There were sleep-blurred words.  One of the boys sounded like he might have been crying for his mother at some point.  And there were other unpleasant things, like the farting.  It wouldn’t have been so bad if it had just been noisy, but the smell - Callidus grimaced.  Callidus did have more sensitive nose than most.

 

Callidus had awoken before Harry, but Zabini and Malfoy were already awake.  He could see Malfoy stretching lazily, his silk pyjamas shining like the surface of an emerald green lake.  Or the colour of Lily’s eyes.  Or Harry’s eyes.

 

 “I must say, these beds are awful compared to the one I have at home,” Malfoy groused.  “It’s amazing that I even managed to sleep.”

 

Zabini rolled his eyes and smirked.  “Poor Malfoy.  Life is so difficult.”

 

 “Shut it,” Malfoy sniffed.  “Envy doesn’t suit you, Zabini.”  Zabini only raised an eyebrow, looking amused.

 

Their repartee seemed to have woken Harry.  As Harry sat up, Callidus was rather amazed to discover that yes, Harry’s hair did get messier.  It looked like a wild black thicket had grown atop his head, but the back of it was pressed flat.  Harry pulled his eyelids apart, looking more asleep than awake.

 

 “What are you wearing?” Malfoy asked Harry, his expression incredulous.  Callidus tensed up.  He was sensitive to being made a laughingstock because of his clothes.  Because of this, he was ready to defend Harry at any moment.  But as he looked over at Malfoy, he couldn’t see any malice in the boy’s eyes.  Just an annoying spoiled brat with a (very) narrow world view.  As for Harry, he looked like he was wearing a tent-like t-shirt,with a gaping hole in the armpit, and another hole in the collar.  Probably one of his fat cousin’s cast-offs.  Harry looked down at his clothes.

 

 “Uh - pyjamas?”  the messy haired boy replied, his voice grainy with sleep.  Malfoy looked pained by that admission.

 

 “Harry - these are pyjamas,” Malfoy said, indicating his own silk garments.  “Those - those are - you look like one of the manor’s house elves.”

 

 “What are house elves?” Harry asked as he rubbed the sleep from his eyes.

 

 “You know, those funny looking little creatures that cook and clean for you,” Malfoy explained.  Malfoy gave Zabini an imploring glance, as though hoping the dark boy would help him explain.

 

 “I’m not a teacher, Malfoy,” Zabini said, his lips curled up with amusement.

 

 “House elves are a type of magical creature that are bound to their masters and have to do what is commanded of them,” Callidus explained to Harry.  A long time ago, the Prince family had had house elves.  But when they had fallen into poverty, they had sold off the magical contracts.  At least that’s what his mother had told him.

 

Harry hummed.  He reached over to his nightstand and grabbed his glasses, putting them on. “Sounds like my life with the Durs - the muggles.”  Harry was quite nonchalant as he said this.

 

Malfoy’s face lost all colour.  It was quite dramatic.  “They - they made you beat yourself and iron your own hands?” His voice was little more than a whisper.

 

Callidus, Zabini, Harry, and Theodore Nott (who had woken up and was listening in on the conversation) all stared at Malfoy.  Their expressions ranged from Harry’s perplexity to Zabini’s raised eyebrow of surprise to Callidus’s disgust.  Nott just looked confused.

 

 “What are you talking about, Draco?” Harry asked.  “Ironing hands?  I hope that doesn’t mean what I think it means.”

 

Colour returned to Malfoy’s face.  “Oh - well - it’s only when they’re disobedient.”

 

Harry frowned.  “That’s despicable.  How could anyone treat anyone or anything like that?”

 

Before Malfoy could say anything to justify himself, Theodore Nott cut in. “You all may want to get dressed if you want to make it down to the Great Hall on time for breakfast.”

 

Aware of the time, the boys scrambled to get changed and ready.  They went up to the Great Hall as a group (and were almost late because Malfoy took so long fussing with his hair). They sat together at the Slytherin table in the same configuration that they had the night before.  Professor Slughorn came by and gave them their class schedules.  The old man was wearing robes just as old fashioned as the night before, but they were less opulent.

 

 “Good to see you all bright and ready for the day,” Slughorn said, with an affable smile.  “Such potential - I look forward to seeing what all of you make of yourselves.”

 

Their first class of the day was Charms with Professor Flitwick.  The diminutive professor smiled merrily at Callidus when Callidus entered the class.  The classroom was on the third floor, and it contained three long rows of desks.  Of course, Callidus sat next to Harry, and Malfoy was on Harry’s other side.  Professor Flitwick stood at the front of the class on a tall stack of books behind his desk.  Callidus wondered how he managed to keep from tumbling.  Or why he didn’t just have a very high chair.  Callidus soon learned that there was nothing that kept Professor Flitwick from falling.  When Flitwick called Harry’s name during roll call, the Professor squealed with such enthusiasm that he toppled over, and out of sight.  Somehow, Flitwick wasn’t at all embarrassed, and laughed along with the class at his own gracelessness.

 

 “We won’t be doing any practical work until late October,” Professor Flitwick explained to the class as they moaned with disappointment.  “But I’ll try and keep this class fun and interesting.  Charms theory is quite fascinating you know.  I can see you don’t believe me, but rest assured, I’ll convince you yet!”  Flitwick’s optimism appeared to be bottomless.

 

As they left the class once the block ended, Harry said, “That wasn’t what I was expecting.”

 

Callidus smirked.  “You thought it’d be all wand waving, and funny words?”

 

 “Kinda, yes,” Harry admitted.

 

 “Well, Flitwick is right - theory is actually quite interesting.  Besides, we can study together and I’ll help you out,” Callidus replied.  Harry smiled with gratitude.

 

Their next class was History of Magic which was taught by Professor Binns.  Professor Binns was a ghost, and Callidus had seen him floating around over the summer.  Callidus had never spoken to him before though.  But if anyone had thought that a class taught by a ghost would be interesting, they’d be wrong.  History of Magic was without question the most boring class in existence.  Binn’s soporific voice had the student’s eyelids drooping.  By the end of the class, it was an effort to drag one’s body up and away.  Most of the students yawned and looked dazed.

 

 “I hope the other classes aren’t going to be like - er - that,” Harry had said once they were done.

 

 “I thought history was pretty interesting - before today, that is,” Callidus muttered.  “Who knew that wars could be so boring?”

 

Fortunately for them, Transfiguration was much more interesting than History of Magic.  Transfiguration was taught by Professor McGonagall.  Her strict demeanor had the students sitting straight-backed in their chairs.  She surveyed the class with cool eyes, keeping her mouth in a straight thin line.

 

 “Transfiguration is some of the most complex and dangerous magic you will learn at Hogwarts," McGonagall had said.  This only fired up Callidus’s desire to do well in the topic.  Callidus looked over at Harry, but the messy-haired boy looked pale.  Harry didn’t seem to have much confidence in his abilities.  But Callidus knew that with Harry’s raw level of power (as determined by the black pyramid), Harry could probably do well in any form of magic if he was serious in his efforts.

 

Unlike Flitwick who focused on theory, Professor McGonagall had the class try and turn matches into needles on the first day.  Judging by the furrowed brows and and looks of frustration, most students were failing at their efforts.  Callidus had managed to make his match silver and narrower, but he couldn’t manage to turn it into a needle.  Nonetheless, he must have done well because McGonagall smiled at him, holding it up to show the class.

 

 “Five points to Slytherin for an excellent first effort,” McGonagall had said.  This had the other Slytherin’s looking at Callidus with appreciation.  Slytherins did want to earn the Hogwarts House Cup after all.  The Slytherins had had the most house points in the last six years, and they were determined to continue their winning streak.  They had a reputation of superiority to maintain.

 

Callidus found himself wondering how the other Houses had performed in Transfiguration.  He hoped that that annoying bushy-haired girl had completely failed in her efforts.  Slytherins did not share Transfiguration classes with Gryffindors.  So, unless he asked her himself, there was no way he could find out.  But she had been such an overbearing know-it-all.  He smiled a rather wicked smile as he imagined her failure.

 

Most of the students were keen on their first Defence Against the Dark Arts class.  Of course, being Slytherins, many of them might have preferred it if the class focused on Dark Arts as well as Defence.  Callidus himself would have liked to glean more knowledge in the Dark Arts.  Dark Arts were just so fascinating.  Even if it was only in a theoretical sense, he would have been happy to learn more.

 

 “I wonder what kind of things we’ll learn,” Harry said with bright-eyed eagerness before class.  The students were all waiting outside the classroom, since it seemed that Professor Quirrell had not yet arrived.

 

 “My father says the Defence education here at Hogwarts is useless,” Malfoy drawled.  “There’s a curse on the position you know.  Dumbledore probably has to scrape the bottom of the barrel just to find someone to teach.”

 

 “Curse?” Harry asked.  Harry had perked up with interest.  It was as though he imagined the professors would randomly transform into toads, or have their limbs fall off during class.

 

 “Yeah, none of the professors have lasted longer than a year.  Something always happens to them to prevent them from teaching a second term,” Malfoy continued.

 

 “Like what?”

 

Malfoy hummed thoughtfully.  It was clear from his self-satisfied expression that he liked the attention he was getting.  Not only was Harry listening, but several other students had leaned in as well.

 

 “During my father’s time, there was one teacher who was fired for having an affair with a student, and another who was fired over a big scandal for brewing illegal potions on the side.  Mostly powerful love potions, and such.  Then there was the one that supposedly died of natural causes, conveniently after exams had finished.  What else?”  Malfoy looked up at the ceiling as though gathering his thoughts.  But it was obvious that he was aware of just how many students were hanging off his every words.  Even Callidus was annoyed by how interested he was.

 

 “There was another one who just mysteriously vanished.  And to this day, no one knows where she went.  There’s one rumour that says she walked into one of those doors in Hogwarts that can appear and then disappear, and she never found her way out.  Then there was the one who had a nervous breakdown, and from what Father’s told me, that professor is still in the Janus Thickey Ward at St. Mungo’s.  Oh, you wouldn't know what that is, would you Harry.  It’s where they keep patients whose minds have been permanently damaged.”

 

 “Like - they lost their minds?” Harry asked, rapt.

 

Malfoy nodded.  “Exactly.  And then -” Malfoy lowered his voice, in a furtive manner.  If he was trying to be dramatic it was working.  Malfoy had gotten the students to lean in closer than ever.  “There was one professor who disappeared, and a few days later, they found the body in the Forest -” Malfoy paused, his eyes glittering, “- it was half eaten.”

 

Many of the students gasped, and an excited murmur spread through the small crowd.

 

 “What about the last professor?” Theodore Nott asked.  “There’s seven years at Hogwarts.  And you only mentioned six.”

 

Malfoy frowned and then shrugged.  “That one was boring.  They left because they got a better paying job elsewhere.  I think.  It wasn’t really worth remembering.”  

 

The students were still talking excitedly when Professor Quirrell finally arrived.  Professor Quirinus Quirrell was a rather young man with very pale skin.  Between Quirrell and Malfoy, it was hard to tell who was paler.  One of his eyes would not stop twitching, and he wore a rather garish purple turban on his head.  Quirrell also had a severe stutter and a tendency to tremble.  All in all, it was difficult to imagine Quirrell defending himself against his own shadow, let alone the Dark Arts.

 

Quirrell let the students into the classroom, which had the pungent odor of garlic (and indeed, strings of garlic hung from the ceilings, like some kind of italian deli.)  After doing roll call, he explained more about the class.  However, anytime a student raised their hands to ask a question, the Professor flinched.  The students shared looks of dismay.  None of them believed that the timid man before them was capable of any sort of defence.

 

  “W-w-w-we’ll be f-f-focusing l-largely on th-th-th-theory,” Quirrell stuttered, to which almost all the students let out a disappointed groan.  Most of them were grateful when the class was over.

 

 “Ugh -” Harry groaned.  “I have a bit of a headache.”

 

 “Me too,” Malfoy added, his lips downturned.  “That was worse that I even imagined.  Father was right.”

 

 “I don’t think Quirrell could protect a mountain troll from a wayward feather, let alone anything else,” Callidus muttered.

 

Harry and Malfoy snorted with amusement.  “I dare say, he probably sleeps with the light on at night,” Malfoy added.

 

 “In a bed of garlic?” Harry grinned mischievously.  The boys snickered.  If they couldn’t learn anything useful from Quirrell, they could at least laugh at him.

 

Classes over for the day, the boys spent the rest of the late afternoon exploring the outer grounds of Hogwarts.  Callidus wanted to spend time alone with Harry, but Malfoy was inescapable, hanging on like an unwanted barnacle.  What made it more irritating was that Harry seemed to enjoy the blond’s company now.  He kept laughing at the blond’s remarks about students that he recognized.  Callidus had little that he could contribute - like Harry, he grew up in the muggle world, and didn’t know the names and faces of people around him.

 

They wandered around the paved Quad, where many older students milled around in groups, catching up with old friends.  A few of them were playing Gobstones, laughing with disgusted glee as players got hit squirts of putrid liquid.  The Quad led to the entrance courtyard (known as the Viaduct Courtyard).  The Viaduct Courtyard was a large quadrangle surrounded by stately, open colonnades.  Here too were more students, enjoying the early September sun.  It was too early yet to have much to do by way of assignments.  The atmosphere was carefree and happy.

 

Well, happy for others perhaps.  Callidus would be a lot happier if Malfoy didn’t keep shooting him self-satisfied looks.  Several of the older students, who recognized the Malfoy heir, came by to say their hellos.  Malfoy introduced Harry and Callidus to so many people, that Callidus could barely keep track of their names.  Harry just looked a bit dazed.  And of course, Malfoy had to explain the proper wizarding way to make greetings (“You’ll want to nod your head - but not too much, mind.  You don’t want to act too deferential after all.  It’s important to know your place in the world, and for others to know it as well,” so said the pureblood princeling.)

 

 “Deferential?” Harry asked.

 

 “It means humble and a bit submissive.  But also respectful,” Callidus told Harry.

 

**  “I know what it means,” said Harry, but his brow was furrowed.  “I just don’t see why it matters.”   
**

 

 **“Well, what he’s suggesting is to act like you’re better than other people, much like he does,”** Callidus couldn’t help adding, keeping his tone innocent.

 

 “Better than other people?  Me?  But I’m not!”  Harry exclaimed.

 

Malfoy glared at Callidus before turning to Harry.  “You’re Harry Potter!  Everyone in the wizarding world knows your name.  Everyone knows that you defeated the Dark - uh You-Know-Who, and survived the killing curse.  You’re the only known wizard in history to have done that.  I grew up hearing and reading stories about you.”  Malfoy’s eyes flashed with a child’s stubborn passion.

 

 “But - well - I don’t really remember that stuff.  And I didn’t even know about it until last month,” Harry replied, staring down at the ground and shuffling his feet.  But then he looked up, green eyes meeting silver ones.  “Besides, I don’t want to act like I’m better than other people.  I just want to be myself.”

 

Malfoy seemed taken aback by this.  He opened his mouth and then closed it, thinking over Harry’s words.  Then he shook his head.  The blond appeared to be deep in thought.  The boys continued their exploration, walking along the edge of the Forest, and then the shore of the lake.  They even caught sight of the giant squid’s tentacle, undulating and breaking the smooth surface of the water.  

 

The boys had moved onto other topics.  Callidus told Harry more about Hogwarts and the surrounding area.  Malfoy spoke a bit about wizarding customs and history.  But for the most part, they just enjoyed the late summer sun and the thrumming, magical energy of Hogwarts.

 

It wasn’t until after supper that Callidus and Harry slipped away from Malfoy.  Malfoy was busy speaking to one of the Slytherin upperclassmen.  They were deep in a conversation about mutual acquaintances (and other sorts of pureblood business).  Though it was only a day, both Harry and Callidus’s table manners had improved.  However, Harry did tend to slip up more often.  And once, Harry had even chewed with his mouth open, just to annoy Malfoy.  After seeing Malfoy’s appalled expression, Harry had laughed with unmitigated delight (and after getting over his uptight offense, Malfoy had smiled ruefully).

 

Even Greengrass had no opportunity to jab at Callidus’s manners.  Callidus was a quick study after all.  But Greengrass did insult Callidus’s greasy black hair, her pale eyes glittering with unveiled spite.

 

  “The house elves could cook a fry up with the grease from your head,” Greengrass remarked, causing the other Slytherins to snigger.  Harry had frowned, annoyed with the other girl’s pettiness.   It was fortunate that Callidus had heard Parkinson make that very insult earlier in class.

 

 “Why Greengrass,” Callidus replied silkily, “How clever of you to learn to mimic Parkinson’s gibes.  Keep this up and perhaps by the end of the year, you’ll be potty trained as well.”

 

Greengrass flushed a deep red, as the malicious laughter of the Slytherins turned against her.  Even Parkinson had let out a snort, before quickly pursing her lips, and looking downwards with false demureness.  Greengrass’s lower lip trembled, and her grey eyes were filled with pure hatred.  But Callidus was undaunted.  Regardless of how much the girl might hate him, he refused to let her get the better of him.  He considered Greengrass to be a puerile pinhead, and had no respect for the girl.

 

After dessert had come and gone, Harry and Callidus stood up, while Malfoy was still busy talking to the upperclassman.

 

 “We’re going to head back to the common room now,” Harry said to Malfoy, after polishing off a treacle tart (in small, neat bites after Malfoy raised an eyebrow at him).

 

Malfoy looked as though he wanted to protest.  But the upperclassman he was speaking to was an important connection.  Malfoy had no excuse for cutting their conversation short.  Instead, the blond nodded, shooting Callidus a resentful glare.  Callidus smiled lazily in reply.

 

Once Callidus and Harry were out of the Great Hall, Callidus felt the tension in his shoulders slip away.  Being around the Slytherins really was like being in a snake pit.  They were quick, venomous, and had no mercy for weakness.  Harry seemed to be faring better, but then again, the snakes were still cautious of the Boy Who Lived.  Harry had the potential to be a powerful ally or a powerful enemy.  Though Callidus was loathed to admit it, it also helped that Harry had Malfoy as an ally.  The Malfoys were rich, powerful and very influential.  Most students would hate to be on their bad side.

 

 “So, how are you liking the Slytherins so far?” Callidus asked Harry.

 

Harry gave him a weak crooked smile.  “It’s - not what I expected.  I feel like a bit of an outsider.  Everyone knows everyone else.  It’s a little intimidating.”

 

 “I don’t know everyone else,” Callidus replied, trying to be supportive.

 

 “Yeah - I’m glad - I mean, well, I don’t mean that I’m glad that you don’t know everyone else.  But I am glad that at least one other person understands.  If that makes sense.”  Harry’s eyebrows were creased as he considered own tumble of words.  “That is to say, I’m glad I’m not alone.”

 

Callidus smiled.  “I’m glad I’m not alone as well.”  Harry’s responding smile was grateful.  They turned a corner towards the staircase that would lead them to the dungeons.

 

 “So, what do you think of Malfoy?” Callidus asked, his tone casual.

 

 “Draco?  Well -” Harry bit his lower lip thoughtfully.  “At first - at Madam Malkin’s - he reminded me of Dudley.  My - er - cousin.  I didn’t really like him.  He’s kind of - pretty spoiled.”

 

 “Very spoiled,” Callidus corrected with a grin.  Harry laughed.

 

 “Okay, yeah.  Very spoiled.  But once you get to know him, he’s not so bad.  Once you get past the spoiled part,” Harry added. “He’s trying, I think.  And he’s actually kind of funny.  Though I can’t always tell if he means to be.  What about you?”

 

Callidus’s answering shrug was noncommittal.  He didn’t like Malfoy.  Or, to be more specific, he didn’t like how Malfoy acted as though he had some claim on Harry’s friendship.  But for whatever reason, Harry was inclined to think of Malfoy positively.  Callidus wasn’t foolish enough to antagonize Malfoy in front of Harry.  At least not yet.

 

When Malfoy later joined them in the Slytherin dungeons, Malfoy gave Callidus a suspicious glare.  Callidus only raised a black eyebrow, which turned Malfoy’s glare into a full scowl.  Callidus’s then gave him a slow smile, with his eyes heavy-lidded.  He might not like Malfoy, but he wouldn’t deny that it was fun to rile the boy up.  After seeing Callidus’s smug smile (and not being able to scowl any further), Malfoy refused to look at Callidus for the rest of the night.


	9. Chapter 9

The first week of classes passed by like a gust of eddying wind - quick and chaotic.  Herbology, which was taught by Professor Sprout, turned out to be highly fascinating.  Professor Pomona Sprout was one of the teachers who had not been at Hogwarts over the summer.  She was squat and short, with grey wavy hair and a cheerful disposition.  Callidus didn’t think her smile ever wavered - it seemed to be her default expression.   Callidus found himself interested in the overlap between Herbology and Potions.  The Magical plants fascinated him - especially since he was accustomed to muggle plants, which usually did not do much but grow.  

 

The only other class they had was Astronomy, which occurred at midnight once a week.  The star-filled night sky filled Callidus with a quiet awe.  Callidus would have liked to spend more time in the library.  But instead, he spent the first week exploring more of Hogwarts with Harry and Malfoy.  Callidus knew most of the layout of Hogwarts, but between the three of them, they managed to find several hidden passages, and a mysterious door that only showed up on Wednesdays.

 

On Friday morning, both Callidus and Harry received notes by owl post.  Harry had a letter from Hagrid, inviting both Harry and Callidus (or Cal, as Hagrid called him) to come by in the afternoon for tea.  Callidus received a separate note, in Dumbledore’s elegant scrawl, to come by in the evening.  Dumbledore’s postscript read: _I’ve taken quite a liking to Acid Pops_.  It seemed like an odd, random comment, but Callidus had a feeling that it meant something.  He looked towards the head table, and Dumbledore’s eyes twinkled like sunlight upon the rippling lake.

 

Friday was to be their first Potions class, and the Slytherins shared this block with the Gryffindors.  Rivalry between the Slytherins and Gryffindors dated back to the founders of Hogwarts.  Thus, before the Slytherins even knew the Gryffindors by face or name, they were already inclined to dislike them.  Even Callidus had a ready sneer for the lions of Gryffindor.  Upon seeing the bushy-haired Hermione Granger waiting outside the classroom, he shot her a cold, contemptuous look.  The girl refused to be cowed, and only raised her chin up, looking away from him.  Callidus felt a prickling surge of irritation spreading throughout his chest.  It was odd that his negative feelings towards Granger were stronger than they were towards Greengrass.  However, Callidus did not give it too much thought.

 

As much as he disliked Gryffindors, Callidus was looking forward to Potions.  The idea of being the youngest person to obtain a Potion’s Mastery danced in his head.  It was a hypnotic and appealing goal.  And with his Slytherin cleverness, he was determined to reach his dream.  Even if that meant that he had to ingratiate himself with Slughorn.  The fat old man already seem disposed to like him.  Perhaps Callidus could convince Slughorn to offer him added guidance.

 

As the students filed into the dungeon classroom, Callidus managed to claim the seat next to Harry.  Malfoy appeared to be nettled by this, and ended in front of them, next to Blaise Zabini.

 

 “No need to look so thrilled, Malfoy,” Zabini murmured with amusement.

 

Malfoy gave him a withering look.  “Maybe I just doubt your ability at potions, Zabini.”

 

 “It’s not even lunch time, and already your claws are out.  What could have gotten your pretty blond head so annoyed, Malfoy?” Zabini continued, his dark eyes glinting with mischief.  Malfoy pursed his lips and refused to answer.  

 

Fortunately, Professor Slughorn had begun his introductions and started on roll call.  As Slughorn ran down the list of names, he made comments like: “Ah, Nott, I taught your uncle back in the day” or  “Weasley!  I’ve heard about your brothers.  That William is a brilliant lad, working at Gringotts.  Quite the family name to live up to.”  Callidus had glanced over at the Weasley boy.  He was flushed red, his cheeks clashing with his bright red hair.

 

When Slughorn called out, ‘Harry Potter,’ his eyes light up.  “Ah, there you are my boy.  I taught your mother Lily.  One of the brightest witches of her day.  Charming girl.  Quite the talent for potions.”  Though Harry was embarrassed, he also seemed interested.  His aunt had told him almost nothing about Lily.  As a result, Harry was hungry for any scrap of information about her.

 

Slughorn’s gave Callidus a knowing look once he called his name.  The Professor nodded, as though the two of them shared a secret (and in a way, they did, since Slughorn knew his identity.)  

 

  “I expect great things from you, my boy,” Slughorn had said.

 

As the class progressed, Callidus noticed that Slughorn was beginning to develop a bias towards certain students.  When Slughorn asked questions, he was delighted if the students answered correctly.  Those who couldn’t answer questions were rarely called upon again.  As a result, Slughorn began to favour Callidus.  But to his dismay, Slughorn also seemed to take an interest in Hermione Granger.  Every time Slughorn had a question, Granger would strain her arm towards the ceiling with ridiculous eagerness.  It was a surprise she didn’t manage to dislocate her shoulder.  The sight of it made Callidus sick - everything about her grated on his nerves.

 

Slughorn then had the students begin on a simple potion for curing boils.  With a wave of his wand, the instructions appeared on the blackboard behind him.  As Callidus looked over the recipe, he smirked.  It was so simple, he could probably make it with his eyes closed.

 

To the delight of the Slytherins, one of the Gryffindors, Neville Longbottom (who had lost his toad on the train), had managed to melt his cauldron.  Longbottom was drenched in the failed potion, and Slytherins could scarce contain their glee.

 

 “Oh dear,” Slughorn had said, his voice thick with disappointment as though Longbottom had personally let him down.  “Such a shame.  Not everyone has a gift for potions.  Seamus, please take Neville up to the Hospital wing.”

 

At the end of the class, Callidus told Harry to go on ahead.  He wished to speak to Slughorn alone.  When all the student had left (and Callidus noticed Granger shooting him a curious and suspicious look), Callidus spoke to the Professor.

 

  “What can I do for you, my dear boy?” Slughorn had asked with a genial smile.

 

 “Hello sir,” Callidus began respectfully.  “As I’m sure you know, I have strong interest in Potions.”

 

 “Indeed!” Slughorn replied with a knowing smile.

 

 “Well, it’s my ambition to try for a Potions Mastery.  Again.”

 

 “Of course, of course,” Slughorn said shrewdly.  “You always did have a gift for it.  Thought you would do great things with that sharp mind of yours.”

 

Callidus smiled (a fake smile).  “I’d like to do better this time, Sir.  And I believe that you can help me.”

 

 “What do you mean?” Slughorn perked up with interest.  The man gathered social connections like squirrels gathered acorns.

 

 “I mean that this time, I’d like to achieve my Potions Mastery sooner.  At nineteen perhaps.”

 

Slughorn’s eyes widened, and then glinted with appreciation.  “Ah - large dreams.  I don’t doubt that you’ll go far, my boy.  And what were you hoping for?”

 

Callidus hummed.  “A mentor perhaps?  Someone who can help me achieve my goals.  And of course, I would be eternally grateful to the one who can help me.”

 

Slughorn’s eyebrows lifted towards his thinning hair.  “Ah.”  The Professor seemed thoughtful.  “Mentoring can be quite a lot of work.”  

 

It was an effort for Callidus to avoid frowning.  Was Slughorn disinclined to work?  As Callidus examined the fat man, he could imagine Slughorn being hedonistic and lazy.

 

 “I’m sure such effort will be worthwhile.  A favour doesn’t go unrewarded after all,” Callidus replied smoothly.

 

 “Hm,” Slughorn smiled.  “I do admire your ambition.  Speak to me next week, after class, and I’ll let you know what I decide.”

 

 “Thank you, sir.”

 

Callidus made his way out of the dungeon, his feelings mixed.  Whether Slughorn helped him or not, he was determined to reach his goals.  But with the aid of his Professor, it would be much easier.  If Slughorn did mentor him, it would be an immense advantage.  Callidus smiled to himself.  That Granger would probably explode with jealousy when Callidus left her choking in his dust.

 

Not knowing where to find Harry, Callidus whittled away his time in the library.  Upon entering, he spotted Granger sitting at one of the tables alone.  He frowned, but he was determined to ignore the bushy-haired girl.  Just the sight of her set him on edge.  He wandered through the aisles of the library.  If he had all the time in the world, he would want to read every single book.  Finding a fascinating book on the theory of wandless magic, he checked it out of the library.  It was getting close to three o’clock, and Harry had a meeting with Hagrid at the half-giant’s hut.

 

Callidus met Harry and Malfoy on the grounds.  Harry was looking rather cheerful, while Malfoy’s expression was pained.

 

 “Hi Callidus!” Harry called out before turning back to Malfoy.  “Come on - he’s nice!  You’ll like him.”

 

 “Hagrid?” Callidus questioned, looking from Harry to Malfoy.

 

Harry grinned and nodded.  But Malfoy appeared reluctant.  “My father says he’s a savage.  What if he gets drunk and starts setting things on fire?”

 

Harry’s grin quickly faded into a cold anger. “Your father is wrong.  Hagrid’s brilliant.” But then Harry’s expression changed and became speculative.  “Draco - Are you scared?”

 

Malfoy’s eyes widened.  “Scared?  Me?  No!”  Malfoy’s ears were quite pink as he denied Harry’s remarks.

 

Harry just laughed and shook his head.  “Come on.”

 

The trio walked towards Hagrid’s hut on the edge of the Forest.  Harry was bright-eyed at the prospect of meeting the half-giant.  His mood was infectious, and even Callidus found himself smiling.  Malfoy however, dragged his feet behind them.  When Malfoy noticed that crossbow that rested by Hagrid’s front door, the boy paled.

 

Harry knocked on the front door, and Callidus heard the excited scrabbling of Hagrid’s black boarhound.

 

 “Back Fang - Back!” Hagrid said from behind the door.  Malfoy looked like he was going to pass out.  But then Hagrid opened the door, and his great hairy face broke into an immense smile.  Fang, the hound, was sniffing at the door, determined to push his way out.  The dog recognized Callidus’s scent, and Callidus knew that this meant being slobbered on.  

 

While Hagrid held on to Fang’s collar, the three boys entered the hut.  Callidus noticed that Malfoy faltered at the entrance.  He smirked at the blond.  Upon seeing Callidus’s face, Malfoy squared his shoulders and entered the hut.  Hagrid’s hut consisted of a single room.  From the ceiling hung pheasants and ham.  There was a merry, open fire upon which a copper kettle was boiling.  In one corner was Hagrid’s immense bed, covered with a homey patchwork quilt.

 

 “Make yerselves at home,” said Hagrid, letting go Fang’s collar.  The boarhound bounded towards Malfoy, who yelped in terror and lost all colour.  Fang licked at Malfoy’s face and ears, and Malfoy’s fear quickly turned into disgust.  Harry was doubled over, laughing helplessly at Malfoy’s expression, and even Callidus was chuckling.

 

 “This is -” Harry wiped away tears of mirth, “-er Draco.”  Malfoy was trying to hold Fang at arm’s length.  The blond was attempting to regain a measure of dignity, and failing.  Fang had taken a great liking to Malfoy.  Even when the eager licking stopped, Fang nudged at Malfoy’s legs, begging for pets.

 

 “Malfoy, are yeh?” said Hagrid, recognizing the distinctive pale hair and skin.  “I remember yer father.”  Hagrid seemed a bit wary of Malfoy.  But when he saw the way that Fang nuzzled up to Malfoy, he softened.  

 

“Fang likes yeh,” Hagrid said to Malfoy.  Malfoy’s answering smile came out like a grimace.  

 

The half-giant was determined to be a good host.  He poured boiling water into a large teapot and put rock cakes onto a plate.  Harry took a rock cake, but Callidus and Malfoy refrained.  Callidus knew from experience that the rock cakes were almost hard enough to break teeth while Malfoy looked afraid to touch anything in the hut.

 

Hagrid asked the three of them about their first week of classes.  Harry was eager to talk, while Callidus added one or two observations of his own.  Malfoy eventually thawed enough to comment that Transfiguration and Potions was interesting, so far.  Callidus even noticed that Malfoy had started scratching Fang behind his ears.

 

As they chatted, Harry noticed a piece of paper stuck beneath a tea cosy.  He pulled it out, and Callidus saw that it was a cutting of the _Daily Prophet_ article about the Gringott’s break-in.

 

 “Is this that article you were telling me about, Callidus?” Harry asked, as he scanned through the paragraphs.

 

Callidus nodded.  “Yeah.  Curious, isn’t it.”  But as Callidus spoke, he watched Hagrid rather than Harry.  Hagrid was shifting uneasily, unwilling to meet Harry’s or Callidus’s eyes.  Hagrid’s behaviour was definitely suspicious.  Since Callidus had a meeting with Dumbledore later, he would be sure to question the headmaster about it.  Callidus had no inclination to get himself into trouble.  But he saw Harry rereading the article.  It was clear that questions were swirling around in the messy-haired boy’s head.

 

Later that evening, Callidus stood in front of the stone gargoyle that guarded the entrance to Dumbledore’s office.  It had taken him a while to find the ugly gargoyle that marked the Headmaster’s office.  After all, he had no reason to visit here in the summer.  When Callidus and the Headmaster had spoken, it was either out on the grounds, or in adult Severus’s chambers.  He had to ask two prefects for directions but eventually, he found it.  Callidus looked at the gargoyle curiously.  How was he supposed to get through?  He thought back to the headmaster’s note.  What had Dumbledore said - something about liking Acid Pops.

 

 “Acid Pops,” Callidus said.  Upon uttering the words, the gargoyle stepped aside.  The wall behind the gargoyle split in half revealing circular stone staircase. When Callidus stepped up, it began to move, coiling upwards.  At the end of the stairs was a door.  The doorknocker featured a griffin, and Callidus rolled his eyes.  Gryffindors.  Callidus knocked.

 

 “Come in,” said the familiar voice of the headmaster.

 

Dumbledore’s office was a large, circular space.  The walls were covered with portraits of past Headmasters who watched Callidus with curious eyes.  It was a bit unsettling, but Dumbledore only looked amused.  The headmaster was sitting at an immense desk, but all throughout the room were tables of various sizes, holding interesting silver instruments.  Many of the mysterious objects moved, puffed smoke or lit up.  The room was filled with a soft cacophony of strange noises.  To his left was an erratic click, clock, click.  Something was swooshing, and something else emitted a melodic trill, like tiny bells.  He even saw the Sorting Hat, slumped over on a shelf.

 

Dumbledore beckoned Callidus closer, and Callidus crossed the room towards the large desk.

 

  “How was your first week, Callidus?” The headmaster asked, his inquisitive blue eyes sparkling.

 

  “Fairly interesting,” Callidus replied. “Though I can’t understand why you’ve kept Binns on.  And I don’t know how you got the impression that Quirrell is capable of teaching defence.”  Because of his conversations with Dumbledore over the summer, Callidus was comfortable enough with the old man to speak his mind freely.  The old man was hard to read, but Callidus could tell that Dumbledore appreciated straightforward speech.  Though hypocritically, the headmaster was rarely straightforward himself.

 

Dumbledore’s eyes shone with merriment.  “I imagine you have your theories?”

 

 “Considering that you’re a Gryffindor, I imagine you’ve got some soft-hearted reason for keeping Binns.  Quirrell is more of a mystery.  Malfoy thinks that you couldn’t find anyone else to take the post, and I’m inclined to agree.  I didn’t realize there was a curse on the Defence position though.”

 

Dumbledore’s eyes seemed to flicker when Callidus mentioned the curse, but then the bright twinkling returned.  Dumbledore smiled and hummed.  “And how are you liking the young Draco Malfoy?”

 

 “Malfoy?” Callidus scrunched up his nose.  “He’s a spoiled brat.  I’m surprised Harry tolerates him so well.  And I can’t say that I’m entirely convinced that Malfoy likes Harry for Harry.”

 

Dumbledore raised his eyebrows by a fraction, his expression questioning.

 

 “I mean -” Callidus frowned, “it’s only been a week.  But I’ve noticed that a lot of people see Harry as The Boy Who Lived, rather than just Harry.  I’d bet that if Harry weren’t a celebrity in the wizarding world, Malfoy never would have given him a second glance.”  Callidus crossed his arms, and jutted his jaw, unable to stem his rising sense of aggravation.  

 

Dumbledore struggled not to laugh.  Callidus looked so young in that moment.  “Is that so,” the headmaster said lightly.  He refrained from pointing out that Callidus had also been predisposed towards liking Harry.  But in Callidus’s case, it was because of his history with Lily, and not because of Harry’s fame.  Instead, Dumbledore said:  “Do you think Draco influences Harry?”

 

Callidus looked at Dumbledore suspiciously.  Dumbledore’s questions weren’t very subtle.  But it didn’t surprise Callidus that Dumbledore had an interest in Harry.  Especially since Dumbledore had confided that he believed that Voldemort had survived.  But what could Dumbledore be planning for Harry?  The idea of Harry doing battle against some monstrous Dark Wizard left a sickening dread in Callidus’s heart.  It was like pitting a puppy against a wolf.  A rabid wolf.

 

 “I’d say that it’s the other way around.  Malfoy influences Harry when it comes to surface matters - like etiquette.  But Harry influences Malfoy simply by being Harry,” Callidus told Dumbledore.  Callidus frowned and pursed his lips.  It felt weird - bad almost - to be talking about Harry behind Harry’s back.

 

 “You’re - you’re looking out for him, aren’t you?” Callidus asked, hating the trembling weakness in his voice.  “I know you think Voldemort is out there.  You won’t let anything bad happen to Harry, will you?”  

 

Dumbledore’s eyes softened.  The old wizard stood up, and walked around his desk, putting a reassuring hand on Callidus’s shoulder.

 

 “I’m doing everything I can for Harry.  But much of what happens will depend on his choices,” the headmaster said.  Callidus nodded but did not feel heartened.

 

The headmaster removed his hand, and walked up to his pet phoenix, Fawkes.  He scratched the phoenix’s head, and the beautiful creature trilled with delight.

 

 “You and Harry appear to be good friends,” Dumbledore commented.

 

Callidus hummed.  “Is that a question?  Or just a statement.”

 

Dumbledore once again laughed silently with his blue eyes.  Callidus rolled his eyes and sighed.  “Harry’s a good friend.  In many ways, he reminds me of Lily,” Callidus’s expression became wistful.  “But in many ways, he’s his own person.  He’s as stubborn as Lily.  And when he tilts his head, it’s just like Lily.  Lily was bolder though.  I don’t think it was good for Harry, to have to live with Petunia.”  Callidus spat out Petunia’s name, and his eye’s hardened.

 

 “I can’t believe you sent Harry to live with her.”  Callidus’s voice was filled with accusation.

 

Dumbledore’s expression became sad.  “You know it was necessary.  I told you about the blood protections, Callidus.”

 

Callidus felt a shudder run through him.  Blood protections.  Lily’s blood.  He pursed his lips, not wanting them to tremble.  It was all so unfair.  So awful.  The very idea that Lily sacrificed her life to protect Harry, and as a result, Harry was forced to live with Petunia, who shared Lily’s blood.  How could fate be so cruel?

 

 “I regret it everyday,” Dumbledore murmured.  “Not being able to save them.”

 

Callidus could only nod, trying to keep the tears from spilling.  But before long, his emotional turmoil calmed.  It was soothing, listening to the strange sounds in the headmaster’s office.  Click, clock, click.  Swisssh, swissh.  Soft tinkling.  And sometimes, an odd plonk.  He pulled his thoughts away from Lily, and his mind seized upon Hagrid, and the incident at Gringotts.

 

 “Harry, Malfoy and I went to see Hagrid today,” Callidus began, his voice level.

 

 “Oh?” said Dumbledore.  But Callidus kept his expression neutral.

 

 “Harry came across a _Prophet_ article about the Gringotts break in.  The one that happened on the same day were were at Diagon Alley.  Rather curious, don’t you think?”

 

The headmaster’s eyes crinkled.   It took an effort for Callidus not to scowl.  Maddening old man.

 

 “I find it curious that you sent Hagrid that day,” Callidus continued. “He was quite open about his important Hogwarts business.  Harry told me that Hagrid went and emptied a vault.  Harry also said that it was supposed to be a secret.  I didn’t realize that your idea of a secret was to announce it to all of Diagon Alley.  And then there’s that mysterious business with the third floor.”

 

The headmaster’s mirth only seemed to grow.  This time, Callidus did scowl at him.  “Can’t you tell me?  I can keep a secret, you know!”  His annoyance caused him to finally sound like the eleven year old that he was.

 

Dumbledore chuckled, which only deepened Callidus’s irritation.  “I know, my boy.  I know you can be trusted.  But the question is, do you trust me?”

 

Callidus looked into the old man’s eyes, his lips pursed.  Eventually, he looked away, resting his eyes on Fawkes.  “I think so.”

 

Dumbledore’s eyes softened.  “I think it’s time you headed back to the dungeons, don’t you?” Dumbledore said gently.  “Before young Draco gets Harry into too much trouble.”

  
The idea of Malfoy and Harry alone made Callidus’s hackles rise.  As he left the headmaster’s office and made his way back down to the dungeons, he realized that he had gotten no answers at all from Dumbledore.  He shook his head and sighed.  He really was a maddening old codger.


	10. Chapter 10

The following week, there was a notice pinned up on the Slytherin noticeboard.  Flying lessons would begin on Thursday.  And worse, they would be stuck with the Gryffindors.  Neither Callidus nor Harry had been on a broom before.  The idea filled both of them with an uncomfortable nervousness.  It felt like they had swallowed a mass of eels that were now fighting in their bellies.  Malfoy on the other hand, wouldn’t stop talking (well, bragging) about the so-called joys of flying.  Or more accurately, he would talk about his proficiency and amazing skills.  These stories often involved dodging muggle Helicopters. 

 

Malfoy’s bragging had gotten to be so interminable that Harry started avoiding Malfoy.  This only delighted Callidus, who found Malfoy annoying regardless of whether he was talking about flying or anything else.  But of course, once Malfoy realized how his gloating was pushing Harry away, he managed to refrain himself.  And Harry was once again happy to spend time with Malfoy.  

 

On top of that, Malfoy was constantly receiving owls from his parents, laden with decadent sweets.  Callidus was convinced that Malfoy was using them to bribe Harry for attention.  Though if Callidus were honest with himself, those sweets were delicious.  They were usually chocolatey confections that melted in one’s mouth.  They tasted like smooth, silky bliss with pleasure as the main ingredient.  If Malfoy would only shut up, and offer Callidus sweets, Callidus thought that he might have it in his heart to actually like the blond.

 

Callidus and Harry almost never received anything from the owl post.  Callidus had noticed Harry’s wistful expression, as Malfoy’s eagle owl deposited yet another care package.  Thus, it was a surprise when one day, Harry received a beautiful letter on thick, creamy parchment.  It had an ornate wax seal with a family crest.  When Malfoy saw it, he smiled smugly.  Wide-eyed, Harry opened the letter with care.  When he finished reading the letter, he looked over at Malfoy with surprise.

 

 “What does it say?” Callidus asked Harry.

 

 “It’s from Draco’s mum.  Thanking me for being Draco’s friend,” Harry replied, looking back down at the letter.  Harry’s ears were pink, but he seemed pleased.  

 

 “No letter for Prince?” Daphne said from across the table.  “How sad.”  Her voice dripped with poisonous sweetness.

 

 “Observing my daily routine?” Callidus replied snidely.  “I’m flattered by your attention, Greengrass.”

 

 “Ew.  I’d never -” Greengrass retorted.

 

 “Never stand a chance?  I agree,” Callidus said smoothly.  “I only befriend those who have brain cells.”

 

 “I hate you,” Greengrass hissed.

 

 “Thank you,” Callidus replied, smiling lazily.

 

Since the trio had spent most of the first week exploring Hogwarts, Callidus was determined to spend more time in the library studying.  He was surprised to learn that Malfoy was also eager to do well, academically.  (“My father says that Malfoys have to be the best at everything,” Malfoy had explained.)  Callidus welcomed the competition.  It would only be that much sweeter to beat Malfoy in all his classes.

 

As for Harry, he was less enthusiastic about books.  Callidus knew that Harry had a curious mind - he was always asking Callidus and Malfoy questions.  Harry soaked up information like a wilted plant soaked up water.  So, Callidus was puzzled by Harry’s reluctance to sit down with an interesting book and read.

 

 “I just find them boring,” Harry said defensively.  His jaw was set, and his expression was stubborn.  

 

 “But all the things I’ve told you about are things I’ve learned from books,” Callidus explained.  “And you find that interesting.”

 

 “That’s different,” Harry replied.

 

 “How so?” 

 

 “It just is.”  Harry chewed his lower lip, his brows knitted.

 

 “What if someone read to you.  Would you like that?” Callidus asked curiously.

 

Harry hummed.  “I don’t know.  Maybe.”  

 

Callidus considered his friend with a thoughtful expression.  He felt like there was a story he was missing - some facet of Harry’s past that he was yet unaware of.  Despite Harry’s resistance, he still allowed Callidus and Malfoy to drag him to the library.  When the three of them entered the immense space, Callidus immediately noticed the bushy-haired Granger sitting alone at one the tables.  His eyes narrowed.  Granger was certainly diligent.  Callidus knew that he had to maintain the same studious behaviour.  It would be humiliating to be bested by someone like her.  Granger looked up as the three of them entered the library, and her eyes narrowed.  She pursed her lips, and then looked back down at her book, refusing to pay them any heed.

 

Callidus, Harry and Malfoy found an empty table, and pulled their textbooks out of their satchels.  They had readings to do for Charms as well as Transfiguration.  While Callidus and Malfoy were able to read the texts with absorbed interest, Harry sighed and fidgeted.  The messy-haired boy would bounce his leg, or tap the table, or run his hands through his chaotic hair.  If it was anyone other than Harry, Callidus would have cut them down with his tongue.  But since it was Harry, Callidus only felt concerned.  The black pyramid had indicated that Harry was a naturally powerful wizard.  If Harry failed to develop that power, it seemed somehow wasteful.  Like a talented artist choosing a career as a ditch digger.

 

Callidus felt like he needed to find a way to interest Harry in reading.  But how?  An idea soon came to him.  He stood up from his chair, drawing Harry’s and Malfoy’s attention.

 

 “I’ll be right back,” he told them.  Harry shuffled with restless energy.  He looked as if he wanted to follow Callidus.

 

Navigating his way through the library aisles, Callidus made way to the fiction section.  He scanned the shelves until he found the book he wanted.  Grabbing the book, he returned back to the table, and set it in front of Harry.

 

 “ _ The Tales of Beedle the Bard _ .  What is this?”  Harry asked, flipping open the book.  Between the texts were beautiful, hand drawn illustrations, which Harry examined with interest.

 

 “You look like you needed a break.  Try reading that instead.  It’s something that almost every witch and wizard has read, growing up,” Callidus explained. “Though in my case, my mother had memorized the stories and she recited them to me.”

 

 “ _ The Wizard and the Hopping Pot _ is my favourite,” Malfoy said.  “I read it so many times that I wore out the magic in the spine and the book nearly dissolved.  Fortunately, my mother was able to charm it back together until she bought me a fresh new copy.  Collector’s edition, naturally.”

 

Harry looked sceptical, but he flipped the pages to the beginning of the book and began to read.  As Callidus and Malfoy returned to their studies, they both smiled to themselves when they noticed that Harry’s leg had stopped jiggling, and his sighing at ceased.  If Harry was able to enjoy  _ The Tales of Beedle the Bard _ , then there was hope for him yet.  Callidus was determined to help Harry discover the pleasures of reading.

 

At three-thirty on Thursday, Callidus, Harry, Malfoy and the other Slytherins made their way down the front steps and onto the grounds.  It was the day of the first flying lessons.  The sky was a clear and unbroken blue, and there was a gentle breeze.  The students made their way down a sloping lawn towards a smooth flat lawn.  This lawn was on the opposite side of the grounds to the Forbidden Forest.  

 

On the ground were twenty or so broomsticks, neatly lined up.  The Gryffindors had not yet arrived, so the Slytherins grouped together by the edge of the line of broomsticks.

 

 “I’ve heard that the school brooms are awful,” Malfoy lamented. “But I must say, seeing them now, it’s worse than I thought.”  The brooms looked worn out and old, and some of the twigs stuck out at odd angles.

 

 “Are these even safe to fly?” Pansy Parkinson said, looking down at the broomsticks with doubt.

 

 “Don’t worry Pansy.  If you fall, I’ll catch you,” Zabini said smoothly.  Parkinson and Greengrass tittered.  If it were anyone other than Zabini, it would have sounded ridiculous.  Somehow, Zabini was able to pull it off, with his lazy smile, and polished demeanor. 

 

 “Flying makes me want to sick up,” Theodore Nott griped.  “It was the same with my father, and grandfather.”

 

 “Oh shush,” Parkinson replied.  “I don’t care for flying myself, but I’ve heard that as long as you prove yourself proficient, you don’t have to take the class.”

 

 “I’m probably going to end up making a fool of myself,” Harry pouted, but he spoke softly enough so that only Callidus and Malfoy could hear.

 

 “Well, no worse than me,” Callidus replied reassuringly.

 

 “If you had a racing broom, it would be so much easier,” Malfoy added, unhelpfully.  They were cut off by the arrival of the Gryffindors coming down the slope.  The lions were followed by the flying instructor, Madam Hooch.  She had short grey hair, and piercing yellow eyes.

 

 "Well, what are you all waiting for?" Madam Hooch barked. "Everyone stand by a broomstick. Come on, hurry up." 

 

The Slytherins lined up along one row, and the Gryffindors lined up along the other.  The snakes and lions glared at one another, and the air crackled with mutual animosity.  Callidus found himself across from Hermione Granger, and his eyes narrowed with dislike.  Their eyes met, and she pursed her lips before looking away.  He was glad to see that she looked nervous.  He hoped that her flying would be worse than his, but in truth, he wasn’t certain.  Neville Longbottom, the round-faced boy, was stark white and looked ready to faint.  The red-headed Weasley just sneered at the Slytherins.

 

 "Stick out your right hand over your broom," Madam Hooch called out, "and say 'Up!’"

 

There was a chorus of Ups from all the students.  Callidus’s broom lifted by a foot before dropping back down.  Harry and Malfoy’s brooms were in their hands.  So too was Tracey Davis’s - one of the quiet Slytherin girls that Callidus had never really noticed.  Davis and Harry’s eyes met, and the two of them shared a smile.

 

As for the Gryffindors, they weren’t faring too well.  Longbottom’s broom hadn’t even moved.  Granger’s broom rolled away from her.  Weasley, however, was smiling with smug satisfaction as he held his broom in hand.

 

Madam Hooch then showed them how to mount their brooms so that they wouldn’t slide off the end.  She examined each student, correcting their grip.  When she told Malfoy that he had been holding his broom wrong for years, the blond looked furious.  Weasley seemed delighted by this, while Harry gave Malfoy a sympathetic glance.

 

  "Now, when I blow my whistle, you kick off from the ground, hard," Madam Hooch instructed. "Keep your brooms steady, rise a few feet, and then come straight back down by leaning forward slightly. On my whistle - three -  two -" 

 

Before Madam Hooch could blow her whistle, Longbottom had pushed up into the air, and all the student’s eyes were drawn to the nervous boy.  Hooch was calling for Longbottom to come back, but it was clear from Longbottom’s expression that he had lost control.  Longbottom kept rising and rising, and his face looked as pale as the moon.  The Slytherins were snickering with amusement, while the Gryffindors looked worried.  Unlike the other Slytherins, Harry’s expression was concerned. 

 

Longbottom gasped, before sliding sideways.  Then he was falling, falling, and Callidus felt his insides clench as Longbottom hit the ground with a hard thump.  There was a sickening crack.  Longbottom was face down on the lawn, groaning in pain.  His broomstick continued to drift up and away.

 

 “Broken wrist,” Madam Hooch muttered, her face nearly as pale as Longbottom’s.  She helped the shaking boy to his feet.  His face was wet with tears and his robes grass stained.

 

 "None of you are to move while I take this boy to the hospital wing! You leave those brooms where they are or you'll be out of Hogwarts before you can say 'Quidditch.' Come on, dear." 

 

As soon as Madam Hooch and the limping Longbottom were out of sight, the Slytherins broke into gales of laughter.

 

 “Did you see his face, the great lump?” Malfoy crowed.

 

 “Don’t be cruel, Draco,” Harry said, his voice low and testy.  Malfoy opened his mouth to retort, but then shut it, and furrowed his brow.

 

Meanwhile, one of the other Gryffindors named Parvati Patil snapped: “Shut up Malfoy.”

 

 "Ooh, sticking up for Longbottom?" Pansy Parkinson taunted. "Never thought you'd like fat little crybabies, Parvati." 

 

 “Pansy -” Harry ground out, his green eyes flashing angrily.  But Parkinson only smirked.

 

 “Are you taking the Gryffindor’s side, Potter?” Nott asked, incredulous.

 

 “I’m not on the Gryffindor’s side,” Harry replied sharply.  

 

 “Gryffindors wouldn’t want a Dark Wizard like you anyway,” the red-headed Weasley called out.

 

 “I’m not a Dark Wizard!” Harry snapped at the same time that Callidus said, “He’s not a Dark Wizard.”

 

 “What would you know about Dark Wizards anyway,” Malfoy sneered at the red head.

 

 “Enough to know that you lot are about as Dark as they come,” Weasley replied, his eyes hard. 

 

 “Take that back!” Harry cried out, furious.  His parents had been killed by Dark Wizards.  He would never, ever want to be associated with one.

 

 “Make me!” Weasley sneered,  mounting his broom.  Then the red head pushed up against the ground.  Weasley wobbled uneasily, but before long, he was in the air, soaring away, and throwing taunts.

 

 "No!" shouted Hermione Granger. "Madam Hooch told us not to move - you'll get us all into trouble." 

 

Callidus had never seen Harry’s eyes filled with such fury.  In his anger, Harry reminded Callidus of Lily more than ever.  Lily had always been hot tempered and passionate.  Her green eyes flashed in the same way, as hard and brilliant as emeralds.  Harry soon had his broom in hand and was mounting it.  He kicked up off the ground, soaring up in the air.

 

 “Harry!” Malfoy called out.  The blond mounted his own broom and soon, he was in the air as well.  Alarmed, one of the other Gryffindors (Dean Thomas, Callidus thought his name was) followed.  

 

 “Stop!” Hermione Granger shrieked.  Callidus could only watch with his jaw dropped.  He expected Malfoy to be a decent flyer.  But Harry’s ability startled him.  Harry flew as though he were born on the broomstick, his movements fluid and graceful.  Harry’s anger was momentarily forgotten, and there was an expression of wonder on Harry’s face.

 

 “Harry!” Tracey Davis called out, and Callidus watched with surprise as the brown-haired girl lifted off the ground.

 

 “Get Weasley!” Malfoy called out, and the two Slytherin boys looked towards the red head.

 

 “Go Ron!” Dean Thomas called out to Weasley.  “I’ll try and hold them back!”

 

The red head was already racing away, and Harry and Malfoy followed, cutting through the air like a pair of falcons.  Dean Thomas flew towards Harry, trying to intercept him.  Tracey Davis was not far behind, trying to grab at Thomas’s robes.  Callidus felt his heart leap to his throat as he watched.  Closer and closer, Thomas flew towards Harry, looking like he wanted to slam Harry off his broom.  But to everyone’s amazement, Harry dodged him with graceful adroitness.  Harry grinned as he dropped downwards sharply, and then reoriented back towards the red head.

 

 “Get that coward Weasley!” Parkinson screeched, but instead of anger, she looked elated by the sight.  “Get him Harry!  Yes!!”  Harry, who had heard her shrill shrieking had turned at the sound of her voice.  When he saw who was cheering for him, he gave Parkinson a bemused smile before turning his attention back to Weasley.

 

Both the Slytherins and Gryffindors were cheering for their own Houses.  Since there were three Slytherins and two Gryffindors in the air, another Gryffindor named Seamus Finnigan had lifted off.  Finnigan had set his sight on Malfoy, determined to trounce the blond.

 

The flyers were quick and merciless.  Harry had caught up to Weasley above the lake.  The pair of them had grabbed on to each others brooms, trying to shake the other off.  So high in the air, the struggle looked terrifying.  Harry and Weasley looked as though they were arguing, but they were too far away to be heard.  Both of them wore stormy expressions, and were red with exertion as they tried to shake the other off their brooms while staying aloft.  Finnigan had managed to reach Malfoy.  Finnigan had given Malfoy a body slam that sent Malfoy veering off to the side, before straightening up.  Davis continued to chase after Thomas.  Thomas seemed disinclined to do anything violent to a girl, so he simply tried to elude her.  The pair of them flew in wide arcing circles over the greenery.

 

It was then that Professor McGonagall stalked towards the lawn.  She had an expression of pure fury on her face.  The students on the ground had stopped their cheering.  They watched McGonagall with wide, fearful eyes.

 

 “WEASLEY!  THOMAS!  POTTER!  DAVIS!  FINNIGAN!  MALFOY!”  McGonagall’s enraged shout had all the flyers pausing in mid-air.

 

 “GET DOWN HERE, THIS INSTANT, ALL OF YOU!”

 

Looking guilty, all the flyers returned to the lawn, their faces subdued.

 

 “Never, in all my time at Hogwarts -” McGonagall began angrily.  “Fifty points from each House!  And a month’s detention!  For all of you.  Yes, even those of you on the ground.  Don’t think I didn’t hear your cheers.  Do you realize how irresponsible you’ve all been?”

 

 “But Professor!” Granger exclaimed, eyes shining with dismay.  “I tried to stop them!”  

 

 “If you couldn’t stop them, then you should have gotten one of the teachers right away, Miss Granger,” McGonagall retorted, merciless in her fury.  Granger looked as though she was about to cry.  McGonagall’s disapprobation had all but crushed her heart.

 

 “You’ll be doing your detention in teams of two to four, starting tomorrow.  Slytherins and Gryffindors together.  I cannot have this house rivalry causing such chaos,” McGonagall continued sharply.  The students began to groan, but upon seeing McGonagall’s piercing gaze, they quieted.  It was in silence that all the students trudged back towards the castle, wearing equal expressions of misery.

 


	11. Chapter 11

The Professors ended up dividing the detention of the Slytherins and Gryffindors between them.  Four of the students would end up with Filch.  Hagrid, Sprout, Flitwick, McGonagall and Slughorn took the rest.  Callidus was appalled to learn that he had to do his detention with Hermione Granger.  The pair of them were to report to Flitwick.  As for Malfoy, his detention would be served with Ronald Weasley, under McGonagall’s strict eye.  Callidus had never seen Malfoy so miserable.  Meanwhile, Harry and Tracey Davis were paired with Seamus Finnigan, and had to serve detention with Slughorn.

****

To make it worse, the older Slytherins were enraged with the first years for losing so many points.  (“We’re going to lose the House Cup to Ravenclaw!” many of them lamented.)  It was tense for the first years within the Slytherin dungeon.  As a result, they ended up sticking close together to avoid the cruel retributions of the older students.  Despite all the misfortunes, Callidus did have one triumph.  The following day was Friday, and when he met Professor Slughorn after class, the Potions teacher agreed to mentor and aid him. 

****

Professor Slughorn’s guidance would predominantly be limited to verbal advice.  It turned out that the old decadent was lazy after all; however, Slughorn had managed to wrangle a seventh year who was willing to oversee Callidus’s projects.

****

 “I’ll leave to to your discretion to decide what potions you want to study and brew, my dear boy, but I’ve made a list of recommendations for where to start,” Slughorn had said.  “You can use potions lab nine - that one is empty I believe.  As for Wystan, you’ll have to speak to him about his schedule.  But worry not, he’s a brilliant lad and quite amiable.”

****

The seventh year that was charged with helping Callidus was Wystan Overcliff.  Overcliff was a popular Slytherin student and Callidus had heard Overcliff’s name mentioned in the common room, but had never personally spoken to the older boy before.  He knew that Overcliff was well liked, and not only within Slytherin.  There was only one negative rumour regarding Overcliff that Callidus could think of: he overheard Parkinson mention once that Overcliff had an enemy in fifth year, and the enemy had somehow managed to get expelled.  Callidus wasn’t certain of how much credence to put into that gossip though.  But from his observations thus far, Parkinson’s gossip tended to be reliable. 

****

Back at the Slytherin dungeons, Harry and Malfoy were nowhere in sight.  Callidus walked the length of the common room, checking all the faces.  Harry and Malfoy usually sat at the same sofa but still, Callidus thought that it would be best to make certain that they weren’t here.  He was about to leave to go looking for Harry when he saw the face of an older boy that might be Wystan Overcliff.

****

The older boy had tanned skin, loose black curls, and smiling eyes.  He had a strong jaw, and a straight nose.  Most people would probably describe him as ‘handsome.’  One side of his lips were tilted upwards in a crooked smile.  He was in a conversation with another student about classwork - it sounded like they were discussing numbers so it may have been arithmancy.  Callidus wondered whether he should interrupt.  But at that moment, the older boy noticed him, and raised his eyebrows inquiringly.

****

 “Erm - Are you Wystan Overcliff?” Callidus asked, since the boy had seen him and was looking straight at him.  From here, he could see that the boy had green eyes, but they were a mossy green rather than Lily’s emerald green.

****

The older boy smiled.  “Yeah, that’s me.  Oh - are you that first year that Slughorn was telling me about?  Uh - Callidus Prince?”

****

Callidus nodded.  “Yeah.  I suppose I’ll talk to you about your schedule later?”  Callidus didn’t want to interrupt Overcliff’s discussion with his friend.

****

 “Oh no, it’s fine,” Overcliff replied.  He excused himself from his friend with a few words and what must have been a personal jest, because the other boy laughed.  Overcliff stood up.

****

 “Come on - there’s some empty chairs over there.”  The tall boy led Callidus towards the tall-backed chairs.  They were next to one of the lake-bottom windows where aquatic plants could be seen swaying.  When they were comfortably situated, Overcliff gave Callidus another warm smile. 

****

 “I’ve seen you around.  You’re friends with the Malfoy heir and Harry Potter.  Everyone has been talking about that midair battle with the Gryffindors yesterday.  You firsties lost us a lot of points.”  Overcliff smirked with amusement.  “But those lions deserved it.”

****

 “The whole lot of them are insufferable pinheads,” Callidus muttered.  But he felt embarrassed that the first years had lost their House so many points.

****

Overcliff grinned.  “Definitely.  And hey, we’ll make up those points.  Don’t worry.  Anyhow, I notice you’ve been reading a book on wandless magic theory.  That’s pretty advanced stuff,” Overcliff said.  This startled Callidus.  Many Slytherins were observant, but Overcliff must have been more perceptive than most.  Even Malfoy had never paid heed to the books that Callidus read for leisure.  This led Callidus to an inference about why Overcliff was so popular.  Not only did Overcliff notice things about people - but instead of ferreting out their weaknesses, he noticed strengths.  

****

 “Yeah,” Callidus replied.  “ _ Wandless Magic: Theoretical Foundations _ .  Have you read it?”

****

Overcliff’s eyes crinkled.  “Yeah - it’s a dry read.  But fascinating.  I’ve been taking the wandless magic class since fifth year.  Not all witches or wizards are capable of it though.  Control and concentration are doubly important when it comes to wandless magic.  If you’re interested, I can recommend a few other books.”

****

Callidus was surprised.  He wasn’t sure whether to be pleased or suspicious.  Two weeks in Slytherin was enough to know that one did not get something for nothing and Slytherins collected favours as a way to collect power.  Overcliff must have seen something in Callidus’s expression because he laughed.

****

 “Don’t worry - I don’t expect repayment,” Overcliff said with amusement.  “But one can never have too many friends, don’t you think?”

****

 “It depends on what you mean by friends,” Callidus replied, still apprehensive.

****

Overcliff grinned widely, flashing white teeth that contrasted with his tanned skin.  “Spoken like a true Slytherin.  You’ll do well here, I believe.  As for friends, my mindset is a lot like Slughorn’s.  But Slughorn prefers those with talent or influence.  I see myself as more open-minded.  I’d rather overestimate than underestimate people.  I have to say though, it wouldn’t hurt to curb that sharp tongue of yours.  I’ve heard of a few things that you’ve said to Daphne Greengrass.”

****

 “Are you friends with Greengrass?” Callidus asked uneasily.  Overcliff’s personality puzzled him.  For a Slytherin, he seemed very open about his motives.

****

 “Ah - I know the family.  But I’ve never spoken to Daphne myself.  But my family is close with the Parkinsons so I’ve spoken to Pansy.  That girl always seemed to know everything about everyone.  It’s a little uncanny, just how much she picks up on human nature.  It can be easy to forget that she’s only eleven.”  Overcliff smiled fondly but also with an inexplicable sad wistfulness.  Callidus wasn’t sure of what to make of this.

****

Overcliff’s expression quickly cleared and he laughed.  “Don’t worry - I don’t take sides.  Not usually.  I’d rather cast my net wide and gain alliances rather than enemies.”

****

Callidus hummed.  “Well - I suppose if you don’t mind recommending me some books, then I’d be glad to take suggestions.”

****

Overcliff seemed pleased by Callidus’s response, leading the two of them to begin discussing their schedules.  Overcliff would meet Callidus one or twice a week in Potions lab nine and he would also be the one to read over Callidus’s essays.  If there was anything that was beyond Overcliff’s understanding, then Callidus would have to speak to Slughorn.

****

 “But feel free to ask me questions if you see me in the common room,” Overcliff added.  “You probably won’t see me around on weekends.  I usually spend them with my girlfriend.”

****

Overcliff’s girlfriends were a thing of legend.  Callidus had heard that Overcliff had dated every pretty Slytherin girl from seventh to fifth year and when he ran out, he started dating girls from other Houses.  At the moment, he was dating a Ravenclaw sixth year that Callidus had only seen in passing.  She was blonde, tall, and beautiful.  But that was all that Callidus knew about her.

****

 “Well, it was nice to finally talk to you,” Overcliff concluded.  “Oh, and by the way, feel free to call me Wystan.  Using surnames is so impersonal.”

****

 “Oh - then you can call me Callidus, I suppose,” Callidus replied.  “It was nice to meet you too, Wystan.”  

****

Wystan grinned.  “I”ll see you later,” he said before standing up and rejoining his friend across the common room.

****

Callidus had wanted to find Harry and Malfoy, but his conversation with Wystan had taken longer than he thought.  It was close to dinner time, so he figured he would probably find the two boys in the Great Hall.  Callidus’s guess turned out to be correct.  When he entered the main doors, Harry and Malfoy were already sitting at the Slytherin table.  Harry, Malfoy and Tracey Davis were caught up in a conversation about flying and when Harry noticed Callidus, he smiled.

****

 “Were you speaking to Slughorn this whole time?” Harry asked Callidus.  Harry had noticed that Callidus had stayed after Potions class for the second week in a row.

****

 “Partially,” Callidus replied.  “Slughorn agreed to mentor me.  Well, kind of.  He and this seventh year.  Wystan Overcliff.”

****

 “Overcliff - sounds familiar,” Harry said, biting his lower lip thoughtfully. 

****

 “You’ve probably heard the girls gushing about him,” Callidus replied wryly.

****

 “Oh!  Yeah,” Harry grinned.  “I have.  What’s he like?  Is he stuck up?”

****

 “He’s surprisingly nice,” Callidus responded.  In that moment, he couldn’t help thinking that Wystan and Harry would get along.  Neither of them were stereotypical Slytherins.

****

When the food appeared, Harry got drawn back into a conversation about flying with Malfoy.  To his irritation, Callidus had little to contribute to that conversation, so he stayed quiet.  But before long, conversation turned towards the detention that they would all have to serve that evening.

****

 “I’ve got detention with Hagrid,” Parkinson moaned.  “He’ll probably make me muck out the paddock.  My nails will get ruined - not to mention my shoes and my robe.”

****

 “Hagrid’s nice!” Harry replied, defending the half-giant.  “Though you might be right about the paddocks.”

****

Parkinson rolled her eyes, her lips quirked upwards.  “You really need to learn how to properly reassure a lady, Harry.  I don’t feel any better.”  After cheering for Harry on the lawn, something between Harry and Parkinson seemed to have shifted.  Parkinson had a tongue that could drip with burning acid but as far as Callidus could tell, she was more bark than bite.  Callidus wondered if Harry was aware of this.  Harry might act guileless, and wear his heart on his sleeve but that didn’t mean that Harry was stupid.

****

 “Better Hagrid than Filch,” Millicent Bulstrode muttered.  The heavyset girl stabbed at her food rather violently as she said this.

****

 “The idea of being ordered around by a squib is humiliating,” Zabini added darkly.  Both he and Millicent had detention under Filch, with two of the Gryffindors. 

****

 “What’s a squib?” Harry whispered to Callidus.  Callidus was surprised that the term hadn’t yet come up.

****

 “It’s a person born into a wizarding family that hasn’t got any magical powers,” Callidus replied.  “They’re not very common, and they’re usually not very well treated.”

****

 “Hm.”  Harry’s expression was thoughtful.  

****

 “I’m with Professor Sprout,” Greengrass said.  “But at least I’ve got Theo with me.” 

****

Nott looked over at Daphne.  “Sprout is pretty nice.  Think she’ll go easy on us?”

****

 “I hope so,” Greengrass replied.  “This whole thing is so unfair!  McGonagall is heartless.  I didn’t even do anything!”

****

 “I’m stuck with McGonagall.  And the Weasel,” Malfoy muttered, referring to Ronald Weasley.  The Slytherin first years gave him looks of sympathy.  “If I end up killing them both and get sent off to Azkaban, it was nice knowing you all.”

****

Callidus couldn’t help smirking.  There was a nice thought.

****

 “I’m with Tracey,” Harry piped up.  Unlike the other Slytherins, Harry didn’t appear to be unhappy, made evident by the smile he and Tracey Davis shared.  It seemed as though the pair of them had bonded over their shared enjoyment of flying. ‘Harry’s too nice,’ Callidus thought with annoyance.  He thought this so often it was almost a mantra.

****

 “You two have Slughorn, don’t you?” Parkinson asked Harry and Davis.  Harry nodded.  

****

 “You lucky little idiot,” Parkinson muttered with a touch of affection in her voice.  “Slughorn’ll go easy on you, just because you’re you, Harry.”  Parkinson turned to Davis.  “Want to trade places?”  Parkinson smiled with false friendliness.

****

Davis, who was always reserved, gave a hint of a smirk.  “Sorry, Parkinson.  I’ll stick with Harry.”  Harry grinned at Parkinson who gave an exaggerated sigh, and tried to hide her amused smile.

****

Because all the first years had to suffer detention, any animosity was temporarily set aside.  They all commiserated over their shared fate and even Greengrass had ceased gibing at Callidus.  Instead she pretended as though he didn’t exist.  Perhaps if the fault had lain upon the doorstep of only one Slytherin, the rest would have turned against him or her.  But Malfoy was one of the responsible first years.  Everyone knew his family name was too powerful to antagonize.  Harry was the other who was responsible, and no one wanted The Boy Who Lived as an enemy.  And though none of the Slytherins said it out loud, they had admired Harry and Malfoy for taking on the Gryffindors.  Thus, when the Slytherin first years went their separate ways to their respective detentions, it was with something that could almost be called camaraderie.

****

Callidus made his way towards the Charms classroom which was where Professor Flitwick had his students serving detention.  When he arrived, Hermione Granger was already there, wearing an aggrieved expression on her face.  Her arms were crossed, and her book bag sat on top of the desk.  She flicked a glance towards the doorway when Callidus entered, but then she quickly looked away, her frown deepening.

****

Callidus was just as unhappy to be stuck with the know-it-all Granger and the idea of her company all evening left him silently bemoaning the cruelty of fate.  He’d rather suffer Greengrass than Granger.  Greengrass was like a persistent mosquito.  Granger ruffled something deeper within him.  Callidus still didn’t know why.

****

Callidus and Granger sat in silence until Professor Flitwick came out of his office and entered the classroom.  The Professor seemed oblivious to the two students’ morose faces.  He was his normal, cheerful self, with a smile as bright as the summer sun.

****

 “I could not believe it when Minerva - I mean Professor McGonagall told me that you two had detention.  Two of my brightest first years?”  Flitwick chortled.  “And in the first month of the term?  I never would have guessed it.  Not in a million years.”  Callidus felt his insides twist with misery.  Granger looked as though she was about to cry. 

****

 “Did the two of you bring your school bags?” Flitwick asked.

****

 “Yes sir,” Callidus and Granger chorused abjectly.  

****

Professor Flitwick gave them a conspiratorial smile.  “Can the two of you keep a secret?”

****

Callidus and Granger shared a bewildered look before turning back to Flitwick.

****

 “Of course,” Callidus said, while Granger nodded hesitantly.

****

 “Well, it’s my opinion that Professor McGonagall was far too strict with the two of you.  And don’t think I didn’t tell her so, but she’s a stubborn witch, that one.  So, I thought it was only fair that your detentions will be served by studying and working on your homework.  You’ll have to do it here in the Charms classroom of course, so make sure you have your books and papers beforehand.  And you mustn't tell any of your classmates about this.  Minerva’d skin me alive if she knew.”  Flitwick looked very pleased with himself, and Callidus felt a bubbling hope rising in his chest.

****

 “But - But -” Granger stammered, “Isn’t that against the rules, sir?”  In that moment, Callidus wanted to hex Granger into a flobberworm.  The girl was impossible!  What was wrong with her?

****

 “It’s my detention, which means I create the rules, Miss Granger,” Flitwick replied, amused.  “There there - I know it’s rather overwhelming, getting your first detention.  No need to cry, Miss Granger.  You’ll be alright.”

****

Callidus cringed at the tearful and overly emotional witch next to him.  He turned back to Professor Flitwick.  “Thank you sir.  I deeply appreciate it.  And I won’t tell your secret.  But what should we tell the other students if they ask us about detention?”

****

 “Ah - well, I’ll leave that up to you,” Flitwick replied with a wink.

****

 “Th - Thank you, sir,” Granger said between ragged breaths.  Flitwick’s smile softened.

****

 “You’re welcome Miss Granger.  Now get to it, you two!  Your books won’t read themselves, you know.  I expect you to know all about the basics of intonation by the end of the night,” Flitwick said merrily.

****

 “Of course!” Granger replied.  Callidus had the sense that Flitwick was only jesting, but Granger took him seriously.  Both of them pulled out their textbooks, parchment and quills, and began to read.

****

Once Callidus became absorbed with reading and note taking, it was easy enough to ignore Granger.  Unlike Harry, she was silent study partner, and all he heard was the scratching of quill on parchment.  Even her breathing was silent, which was a good thing - if she were a loud breather, he’d probably have to strangle her.  As it was, the evening passed by quickly, and when Flitwick dismissed the pair of them, Callidus and Granger separated without saying a single word.


	12. Chapter 12

When Callidus returned to the Slytherin dungeon, he saw Harry and Tracey Davis sitting together at a couple of high-back chairs, chatting.  Harry smiled when he saw Callidus.  Davis tilted her head, but she wore her usual guarded expression.

****

 “How was your detention?”  Harry asked.  

****

 “It was alright.  Flitwick isn’t exactly strict,” Callidus replied, keeping his answer ambiguous.

****

 “Tracey and I were with Slughorn,” Harry replied.  “He had us counting ingredients inventory.  It wasn’t too bad - I guess Pansy was right about that.  We were with Seamus.”

****

Callidus felt a twinge of irritation.  Calling Finnigan ‘Seamus’?  Was Harry on a first name basis with everyone?

****

 “Finnigan seems tolerable for a Gryffindor,” Davis added.

****

Harry grinned.  “We got into a discussion about flying.  Well Tracey and Seamus both grew up flying.” Harry’s expression grew wistful.  “I wish I had known how amazing flying could be before yesterday.  I feel like I’ve been missing out.”

****

 “You’ve a natural talent, Harry,” Davis said, smiling.  Like all her other expressions, Davis’s smile was reserved.

****

 “Thanks Tracey!” Harry replied.  They were interrupted by the entry of Malfoy, whose grey eyes glittered with murderous rage.

****

 “I bloody hate that Weasel and that wretched old witch!” Malfoy ground out, stomping towards Harry, Callidus and Davis.  Malfoy threw himself into a chair, in boneless heap, crossing his arms.

****

 “That bad?” Harry asked sympathetically.

****

 “Worse,” Malfoy groaned.  “McGonagall had us write a paper on how Gryffindors and Slytherins can get along.  She wanted at least five reasons.  I don’t even think there’s a tenth of a reason to get along with Gryffindors, let alone five.  I could think of five reasons to kill Gryffindors.  Maybe even fifteen reasons on a good day.  On top of that, that Weasel is a bloody mouth-breather with the intellectual capacity of a parsnip.  McGonagall forced us to sit next to each other, and I swear that Weasel is incapable of keeping his joints to himself.  I felt defiled, just having to sit next to that pillock.  I must say, one of us is going to end up dead by the end of the month.  Preferably the Weasel.  If McGonagall hadn’t been watching our every move, I would have hexed him blind, limbless - and possibly without entrails.”

****

 “I think you’re confusing hexes with curses, Malfoy,” Callidus drawled.

****

Malfoy rolled his eyes, but otherwise ignored him.  “This month is going to be torture.  I think I’d prefer to submit to the  _ Cruciatus _ curse.”

****

 “ _ Cruciatus _ curse?” Harry asked. 

****

 “The torture curse,” Callidus explained.  Harry gave Malfoy another sympathetic look.

****

 “Do you think McGonagall would let you switch and do detention with someone else?” Harry asked.

****

Malfoy scowled.  “That old harridan? Unlikely.”

****

 “You could always ask,” Harry continued.

****

 “Why, are you offering?” Malfoy asked, his tone bordering sarcastic.

****

 “Er -” Harry’s expression was pained.  If it was anyone else but Weasley, he probably would have switched.  On the other hand, Malfoy was his friend.  And having never had friends, Harry was determined to be a  _ good _ friend.  “Yes?”

****

Malfoy’s eyes almost bulged out of his head.  “You’d switch?  Really?”  The blond’s anger quickly dissipated and was replaced by a mix of bemusement and hope.

****

 “Erm - yeah?”  Harry looked uncomfortable, but also determined.  Callidus didn’t know if he wanted to kill Malfoy or Weasley.  Harry really was too nice for his own good.  For a brief moment, Callidus wondered if Lily would have been the same.  Would she have wanted to adopt every wayward stray that came her way?  The idea left him feeling confused and uncomfortable.  Callidus couldn’t deny that he had possessive tendencies.  Sharing Harry’s friendship with Malfoy was irritating enough. 

****

 “We can speak to McGonagall tomorrow,” Malfoy said.  Callidus felt a rising rage towards Malfoy.  Did the idiot blond not remember how Weasley had treated Harry?  How could Malfoy be so selfish?  On the other hand, this was Slytherin.  Slytherins went for any advantage that they could get.  Maybe it was a mistake to convince Harry to join the Slytherins.

****

 “Are you sure about this, Harry?” Callidus asked, hoping to dissuade his friend.  “I mean, this is Weasley we’re talking about.  I don’t think that blithering idiot has a barrier between his brain and his tongue.”

****

Harry frowned, looking even more uncomfortable.  “Well, it’s what friends do right?  Help each other?”

****

Callidus swept a disdainful look at Malfoy.  To his surprise, the blond had the decency to look guilty.  But Harry had made up his mind.  Though Callidus tried to argue further it was impossible to deter Harry from his course of actions.

****

Callidus, Harry, Malfoy and Davis were eventually joined by the other first years as they returned from their detention, all of them grousing and complaining about their experiences.  Of course, this only caused Harry to feel guilty.  Especially once the adrenaline of flying had worn off, and the reality of detentions had come crashing down.

****

 “I’m sorry, everyone,” Harry said, biting down on his lower lip.  “If I hadn’t flown off after Weasley, none of this wouldn’t have happened.”  

****

Callidus frowned at Harry’s apology.  It seemed dangerous, to let oneself be chastened by a group of Slytherins.  Harry should have kept quiet, or if not that, then owned up to his actions with pride.  Malfoy, who was just as aware of Harry’s slip up, glared at the other first years.

****

Meanwhile Callidus catalogued the reactions of the other Slytherins.  Greengrass and Nott wore apprising looks.  Millicent Bulstrode shrugged indifferently, but then praised Harry’s flying.  Zabini was unreadable aside from a mysterious smile.  But Parkinson was sympathetic.

****

 “Weasley deserved it,” Parkinson said firmly.  None of the Slytherins could argue with that.  They all relaxed as they fell into a discussion about the worst of the Gryffindor faults.  And there were many, many Gryffindor faults.

****

Over the weekend, Harry and Malfoy spoke to Professor McGonagall about changing places in detention.  To Callidus’s eternal delight, the old witch refused to switch their placement.

****

 “I’m sorry, Draco,” Harry said, patting his friend on the back.  Callidus rolled his eyes.  Malfoy hardly needed more compassion.  If anything, Malfoy deserved to be stuck with Weasley.

****

“It’s alright, Harry,” Malfoy replied.  “I didn’t think that old shrew would switch us anyway.”  Malfoy paused, looking deep in thought.  “Thank you though.  Uh - for offering, that is.”  Malfoy’s ears were pink.

****

Harry smiled.  “You’re my friend.  I’m sure you’d do the same.”  Callidus pursed his lips hard.  If he didn’t, he would have spat out something insulting towards Malfoy.  Callidus was convinced Malfoy was selfish to the core and considering how abashed Malfoy appeared to be, Malfoy probably knew it as well.  Instead, Malfoy just nodded, somehow looking pinker than ever.

****

The following Monday found Callidus, Harry and Malfoy back in the library.  But this time, Harry had asked Davis to join them.  Davis looked pleased by the invite and when she smiled at Harry, Callidus thought it was the first genuine smile he had seen from her.  But her face resumed its normal guarded expression soon after.  

****

Callidus knew that Harry had invited Parkinson as well.  To Callidus’s relief, Parkinson turned him down.  (“The library?  Really, Harry?  I’ve got better things to do.  People’s deepest secrets are rarely discovered the in the library you know.  Unless - have you happened to come across any secret couples snogging in the library?  Ha - judging from your blush, I’m guessing not.”)

****

It was no surprise to see Granger alone at one of the library tables.  As Callidus gave it more thought, he realized that he never seen Granger in anyone’s company - not even the other Gryffindors.  More than once, he had seen her at the Great Hall during meals, reading a book instead of speaking to the other students.

****

 ‘It’s no surprise that no one wants to be her friend,’ he thought.  But for some reason, the idea made him feel bad.  He quickly shoved his feelings aside, and focused on the Slytherins instead.  Callidus’s detentions with Granger and Flitwick meant that he was ahead in his schoolwork rather than behind, but he took advantage of this to research Potions.  

****

Callidus decided to start on a paper detailing the effects of different ingredient preparations.  It was both a basic and yet advanced topic.  By the end of first year, most students should know why dicing versus slicing yielded different results.  But what of potion ingredients that had been sun-dried versus oven dried?  Or the use of flowers picked by hand rather than collected with magic?  He collected the books he would need and set them down on the library table.

****

It took only fifteen minutes before Harry started bouncing his leg, and tapping on his page.  In another five minutes, Harry was sighing and mussing up his hair.  Davis looked like she wanted to say something to Harry but held herself back and Callidus was thankful for her restraint.  If only Malfoy could be so disciplined.  Like before, Callidus stood up.  Malfoy gave him a knowing look, while Davis kept her expression neutral, though he could see that she was curious.

****

Callidus wove his way through the aisles, this time Callidus heading to the historical section rather than fiction.  He scanned the titles until he found what he was looking for.  With a triumphant smile, he returned to the table, and set the ornate leather bound book in front of Harry.

****

 “ _ The Birth of Merlin _ ,” Harry read, before flipping over the cover.  The illuminated detailing in this book were beautiful - scrolling calligraphy, gold leafed illustrations, elaborate borders. 

****

 “The book was written in the 1600s,” Callidus said.  “But it’s important part of Wizarding history - Merlin that is.  Don’t give me that look, Harry.  Trust me, it’s interesting.  Just read it.”  Callidus’s lip quirked upwards at Harry’s doubtful expression.  But Harry had enjoyed  _ The Tales of Beedle the Bard _ , so perhaps he would enjoy reading about the adventures of Merlin as well.

****

Just as Callidus guessed, Harry became engrossed in his reading.  Davis was looking at Harry with that typical, Slytherin look of calculation while Malfoy looked relieved that Harry had quieted down and was actually reading.  The blond had picked up on what Callidus was doing.  As much as he and Malfoy disliked each other, they tried to set their differences aside for Harry.

****

Detentions with Granger turned out to be tolerable.  While Callidus wasn’t thrilled about having to sit next to Granger on a daily basis, they had reached a silent truce.  Quite literally a silent truce, since neither of them ever said anything to each other.  The rustling of leaves was louder than Callidus and Granger alone together in the same room.

****

Sometimes Callidus thought he could see Granger peeking over at what his was writing.  He would have been more annoyed but in truth, he also peeked over at her work.  Of all the students in the school, her intelligence rivalled his own.  Even the Ravenclaws didn’t measure up.  So of course it only made sense to see what she was doing.  It was collecting information, like any reasonable Slytherin would do.  But she was a Gryffindor, and Gryffindors were supposed to be ‘noble’ and ‘fair.’  Callidus thought that Granger was pretty sneaky for a Gryffindor, and he would have liked to call her out on her behaviour.  But then he’d break their truce of silence, so instead, he said nothing.

****

Callidus woke up on Thursday with a sense of dread.  Harry, Malfoy and Davis had been excused from flying lessons.  The three of them had proved themselves proficient on broomsticks.  But unlike Harry, Callidus had no natural talent for flying.  The idea of not being firmly on the ground made his stomach lurch.  This meant he was stuck with Nott, Greengrass and Bulstrode on the Slytherin side.  And Granger, Longbottom, Patil and Brown on the Gryffindor side.  

****

Spotting the smiling Wystan Overcliff in the common room that morning, Callidus handed the older boy his completed Potions paper.  Then Callidus went down to the Great Hall with the other first years, his appetite non-existent.  After giving Harry the book about Merlin, Harry had become fascinated with the historical wizard, and his recent comments usually began along the lines of “I can’t believe that Merlin -” or “Did you know that Merlin -”  It was a good thing Merlin actually was an interesting wizard.  Even Davis and Malfoy were happy enough to discuss Merlin, and on occasion, Parkinson joined in.

****

As Callidus forced down a piece of dry toast, he listened to Parkinson’s chatter across the Slytherin table.  If one wanted to know what was happening, one only had to listen to Parkinson.  Though it was only their third week, she had established herself as the Queen of Gossip, at least among the first years (and maybe even the second years).

****

 “Has anyone noticed the way that Vincent and Gregory have been following that pair of Hufflepuff girls around?” Parkinson was saying in her guileful tone.  This caused almost all the Slytherin first years to look towards the Hufflepuff table.  Crabbe and Goyle were blissfully ignorant of their stares as they scarfed down everything that they could fit in their mouths.

****

 “You mean Hannah Abbott and Susan Bones?” Millicent Bulstrode asked as she spread marmalade on her toast.

****

 “The blonde and the carrot top?” Parkinson continued. “Yes, I believe that’s them.”

****

 “Abbott and Bones sit in front of me in Charms class.  I overheard them talking about cooking magic,” Davis said softly. “They were talking about baking cookies that could also induce good dreams.”

****

 “Is that what it is?” Parkinson cackled gleefully.  “Ha!  Vincent and Gregory always were led by their stomachs rather than their heads.”

****

 “Crabbe and Goyle’s stomachs  _ are _ their heads,” Malfoy drawled before turning to Harry.  “I swear - Harry!  How many times do I have to tell you not to eat with your hands!  You’re not a barbarian!”

****

Harry rolled his eyes. Instead of obeying, he picked up another piece of bacon with his fingers and popped it in his mouth, chewing with deliberate slowness.  Harry was only ever well-mannered when the mood suited him, but he had a tendency to like to push Malfoy’s boundaries.  Callidus thought that part of that was due to his own influence on Harry - it was so amusing to provoke Malfoy after all.

****

Malfoy winced.  “You’re fingers are covered in grease.  Ugh - I can’t believe you just wiped your hands on your robes!  How could you be so uncouth!  Remind me never to invite you to dinners at the Manor.”

****

 “I licked my fingers first,” Harry replied innocently, before laughing at Malfoy’s pained expression.  

****

 “Oh Draco,” Parkinson said with an affected sigh.  “Just admit that you like when Harry does that.  You’ve always liked telling other people what they can and can’t do.”

****

Malfoy glared at Parkinson, grey eyes narrowed.  “I can’t help it if I’m more refined than others.  I’m a Malfoy.  Others look to me for guidance.”

****

Parkinson smirked.  “Of course, Draco.”

****

 “Can you teach me how to have a stick stuck my my arse, Malfoy?” Zabini asked smoothly, his dark eyes glowing with amused mockery.

****

 “Shut it, Zabini,” Malfoy snapped, as the first year Slytherins sniggered.

****

They were interrupted by the Owl post.  Once again, Malfoy got a care package from his parents, but Harry seemed more excited about the beautifully wrapped parcel than Malfoy was.

****

 “Hm.  Petit fours again?  Mother just sent me some last week,” Malfoy whinged, as he looked down at the gorgeous, colourful confections. 

****

 “If you don’t want them, I’ll take them,” Harry said hopefully.

****

Malfoy rolled his eyes in an exaggerated manner.  “How did you end up in Slytherin, Harry?  You have no subtlety whatsoever.” 

****

 “And you do?  As far as I’ve seen, you’ve been all too easy to read, Draco” Parkinson said lightly from across the table.  Malfoy and Parkinson’s eyes met, and there was a flare of frosty hostility between them.  The Slytherins watched in interest.  It was a silent battle for dominance, but eventually Parkinson shrugged and looked away with affected indifference.  Malfoy smirked, knowing that he had won.  He turned his attention back to Harry.

****

 “Prove that your behaviour is fit for polite company and I might consider sharing,” Malfoy said to Harry in his snobbiest voice. 

****

 “Or, I could just wait a week for you to forget that you even have them and just take them,” Harry replied with a cheeky smile.  It was a smile that Callidus had seen on Lily’s face many times.

****

The other Slytherin first years snickered with amusement.  Parkinson snorted.  “He knows you too well, Draco.  But I have to say that Draco’s right, Harry.  For the life of me, I can’t figure out how you ended up in Slytherin.  It’s hardly cunning to give away your whole plot before you’ve carried it out.”

****

Harry’s grin had a hint of slyness as he looked across the table at Parkinson.  “Doesn’t mean I won’t get what I want, Pansy.”  

****

Callidus looked over at Harry.  Three weeks of constant sniping between Harry and Malfoy and the other Slytherins had loosened Harry’s tongue.  Harry was starting to be as quick-tongued as the other first years.  But while most Slytherins preferred snark, Harry’s comments were usually more playful, and by growing accustomed to Malfoy’s constant criticism of his manners, Harry had learned to let all the snide comments roll off his back.  After all, if Harry didn’t take Malfoy seriously, how could he take the other Slytherins seriously?  Maybe Slytherin was the right choice for Harry after all, regardless of how the other first years teased him.

****

 “You may be right, Harry,” Parkinson replied with a slow smile.  “I wonder, if my mother sent me petit fours and chocolates, would you rather be my friend instead of Draco’s?”

****

Harry laughed with delight, while Malfoy looked horrified before quickly covering up his reaction.  

****

 “Oh Harry,” Parkinson said with a fake sigh.  “Your as easy to read as a puppy.”  Callidus noticed that Parkinson looked at Malfoy as she said this.  Slytherins were fond of multiple meanings and they often hid venomous barbs behind innocuous sounding messages.  Though Harry seemed oblivious, Malfoy recognized Parkinson’s meaning.  Parkinson may have said the words to Harry, but she meant them for Malfoy.

****

 “Hey, even a puppy could take on a snake,” Harry retorted.

****

Parkinson smiled lazily at Harry but once again, her gaze drifted towards Malfoy.  “Oh, I don’t doubt that.  I don’t doubt it at all.”


	13. Chapter 13

Charms class and Herbology flew by far too quickly.  During lunch, Callidus couldn’t get a single bite down his throat and he noticed that Nott didn’t eat as well.  Between him and Nott, he wondered who appeared more colourless.  The Slytherins may have mocked Longbottom’s flying the previous week, but those who were bad flyers each feared that the same could happen to them.  Even if broken bones and cracked ribs could be fixed in a heartbeat, it didn’t mean that any of them wanted to break bones or crack ribs.

****

What made it worse was that Callidus wouldn’t have Harry for company.  He was stuck with Nott, Greengrass and Bulstrode.  He and Greengrass had refrained from insulting each other in the past week, but there was a gaping chasm between not insulting each other and friendship.  Following the other Slytherins, Callidus dragged his feet down the lawn to where the broomsticks awaited them.

****

The tension between the Gryffindors and Slytherins simmered in the air.  It was so thick that Callidus wondered how Madam Hooch didn’t choke on it.  Since all the students were poor flyers, they didn’t trade insults about flying, but that didn’t mean that were no insults.

****

 “Ew - his hair is so greasy, and his nose is so huge,” he heard the dark blonde Lavender Brown say to Parvati Patil and they peered over at him. 

****

 “He looks like he thinks the broom is going to bite him,” Greengrass said to Nott with spiteful glee as they mocked Longbottom.

****

 “She looks like a man, doesn’t she?” Patil whispered to Brown about Bulstrode.

****

 “She could probably cut down trees with those buck teeth,” Nott said to Greengrass about Granger.

****

At least when the students were up in the air, all of them were too fearful to trade cruel comments and instead, they gripped their broomsticks until their knuckles were white, and wobbled around.  Most of them didn’t know whether they wanted to keep their eyes opened or closed.  And all of them silently hoped that they wouldn’t break every bone in their body.

****

When flying classes were done, Callidus thought that the worse was over.  It was true that he still had detention with Flitwick and Granger, but that was a breeze compared to flying lessons.  He made his way down to the dungeons.  In the common room, Harry and Malfoy were chatting at their usual sofa.  Parkinson had perched herself on the armrest of the sofa.  Across from them sat Zabini and Davis.  

****

 “You’re back!” Harry said with a warm smile.  “How was it?”

****

 “About as pleasant as having to drink Bubotuber pus,” Callidus replied.

****

Harry wrinkled his nose.  “I have no idea what Bubotuber pus is.  Sounds bad.”

****

 “It’s a shame that you lack the talent for flying,” Malfoy said insincerely.

****

 “I console myself by having talents that are actually useful,” Callidus drawled.  

****

 “It’s so cute how you two snipe like that,” Parkinson said to Malfoy and Callidus.  Both of them glared at her with irritation.  Parkinson smirked.  

****

Greengrass and Nott wandered off to find another sofa to sit at.  Before she left, Greengrass shot Parkinson an inquiring look.

****

 “Later,” Parkinson said to Greengrass.  Greengrass frowned, annoyed that the other girl preferred Malfoy and Harry’s company.

****

 “Draco was talking to one of the older students, and they agreed to unlock the broomshed for us so that we could get some flying in over the weekends,” Harry told Callidus with eager enthusiasm.  “Tracey is coming along, aren’t you Tracey?  I bet Seamus would be interested.  Maybe I should ask him when I see him during detention.”

****

Callidus looked over at Malfoy curiously.  He wondered what favours the blond had to trade in order to make that arrangement.  In Slytherin, nothing came for free, and Callidus had a feeling that Malfoy had intended to fly with only Harry.  But Harry (being Harry) had to invite everyone else along as well, which explained Malfoy’s expression changing from smugness to dismay as Harry explained their weekend plans to Callidus.  It meant that in all likelihood, Callidus would be left out this weekend.  

****

Callidus consoled himself with the thought that Malfoy would be spending the evening with Weasley.  Though it had been a week, Malfoy hated his detentions as much as he had on the first night, and Callidus would have to be blind to miss the death glares that Malfoy and Weasley sent each other in the corridors and the Great Hall.

****

After supper, the first years separated for their respective detentions.  As always, when Callidus entered the Charms classroom, Granger was already there, her books and parchment already out.  She didn’t spare him a glance as he came in and sat down beside her, causing Callidus to feel that familiar prickle of annoyance.  It irked him that Granger acted like he didn’t exist.  Some part of him wanted to shake her out of her chair, just to get a reaction.  Of course, he refrained from doing so since he couldn’t figure out why she rubbed him the wrong way.  They hadn’t even spoken half a word the entire week.

****

True, she was still an annoying know-it-all in Potions.  And yes, Slughorn did seem to like her.  But Callidus was the one being mentored, not Granger.  He shoved these thoughts away as he pulled his textbooks out of his satchel.  He had to write twelve inches for Transfigurations, and he only had four inches written so far.  Callidus peeked over at Granger’s parchment.  Curse it!  She was working on Transfigurations too, and she already had what looked like ten inches.

****

Callidus looked over his textbooks and began to scratch out his essay.  Though he had only written four inches, he already had a good idea of what he wanted to write.  Transfigurations was a very exacting school of magic and he enjoyed making sense of the equations and diagrams, but it wasn’t his best topic.  Perhaps in his old life as Severus, he hadn’t made the same amount of effort in Transfigurations.  Perhaps Severus has focused more on Potions and Defence.  

****

If Callidus were honest with himself, he would have to admit that Granger’s intellectual rivalry drove him forward.  They might not speak, but he saw what she wrote which meant that he knew that she was no simpleton.  He remembered on the train how Granger had claimed to have learned all her course books by heart.  If he had an inkling of doubt then, he didn’t doubt it now.  

****

Not that he respected Granger - oh no.  She was an insufferable swot who probably valued books more than she valued people, but he was able to admit (to himself) that she was smart.  Threateningly smart.

****

Callidus had managed to add another six inches to his paper when there was a sudden, heart-stopping ‘BANG.’  He felt a mass of sharpness cutting into the flesh of his back and legs.  Beside him, Granger’s scream pierced his ear.  Callidus had the sensation of falling backwards, his heart in his throat. Downwards, downwards, and then the back of his head slammed into the table behind him.  There was a brilliant whiteness, and then there was only black.

****

When Callidus peeled his eyes open, he found himself looking up at a high vaulted ceiling with sweeping stonework.  There were immense windows, and based on the colour of the sky, it was either dawn or dusk.  He wasn’t in his four poster bed in the Slytherin dormitory - that much was certain, and the skin on his back and legs felt strangely tight and stretched.  

****

He turned his head to his right, and the familiar face of Madam Pomfrey came into view.  It seemed he was in the infirmary.

****

 “How are you feeling, Mr. Prince?” Madam Pomfrey asked, her blue eyes filled with concern.

****

 “What happened?” Callidus groaned.  “I was in detention - did Granger do this to me?”

****

 “Young man!” the matron exclaimed, her expression quickly changing from concern to affront.  “If not for Miss Granger, who knows what could have happened!  She very likely saved your life.  You ought to apologize to her immediately!”

****

Callidus looked past Madam Pomfrey and his gaze swept downwards.  He saw Granger sitting near the foot of his bed in a chair, and her eyes were swollen (from crying?) but at the moment her brown eyes burned hot with anger, while her lower lip trembled.  Her hands were balled into tight fists on her lap.  There was a stubborn set to her jaw, and she did not break her gaze from his. 

****

 “You - what?”  Callidus’s head felt fuzzy.  Had he heard the matron correctly?  He didn’t want to think of owing his life to Granger, but rationally he knew that Granger wasn’t the sort of person who would harm another.  Even during their flying lessons, when spiteful insults were being tossed around like confetti at a party, Granger had kept quiet.  But the implications of it - if Granger had saved his life, it would mean he owed her a Life Debt.  His stomach lurched and his head pulsed with discomfort, and he pushed himself up into a sitting position, even though it made his head spin.  It felt too awkward and vulnerable to be lying down in front of someone.

****

Granger seemed to sense his confusion.  She bit her lower lip and then squared her shoulders, her brown eyes hardening.  “We were both working on our essays and the door to the classroom opened, but nobody was there, so I didn’t think much of it.  I was trying to work out the wand power part of the transfiguration equation so - um - nevermind.  As I was saying, the door to the classroom was open and then soon after, your chair exploded -” Granger’s voice wavered.  “Th - the pieces of the chair had cut into your back and legs and there was so much bl - blood.  You hit the back of your head on the desk behind you and lost consciousness.  I was -” 

****

Granger broke eye contact, looking down at her fisted hands before looking back up at Callidus.  “I was terrified,” she said, her voice little more than a whisper.  “I thought you had died.  I checked your pulse, and your heart was still beating.  I would have tried to stop the flow of blood, but there was so much - too much - so I pounded on Professor Flitwick’s office.  He had been working on some sort of delicate personal project so he had a sound blocking spell around him - that’s why he didn’t hear that bang and my - my scream.  Then we took you to the Hospital Wing.  Professor Flitwick went back to the classroom to try and figure out what had happened.  Whatever it was, I cannot believe that it was an accident.  Either someone wants to hurt you, or it was a malicious prank gone wrong.”

****

The stubborn tilt had returned to Granger’s jaw.  It was as though she were daring him to refute her story.  Callidus didn’t want to believe it - it wasn’t that he thought Granger was a liar.  If anything, he got the impression that the girl was probably one of those too-honest types.  It was just that he didn’t want to believe that someone would want to harm him.  Better to assume it was a meaningless prank instead.  He didn’t want to believe that of all people, Granger was the one who saved him.  He didn’t want to believe any of it, but he knew that Granger spoke true.

****

 “I know it’s a lot to take in dear,” Madam Pomfrey said, her expression once again sympathetic.  “But we’ve got you patched up now, and we’ll be looking for the culprits.  Hogwarts takes the safety of its students very seriously.  But I will have to ask you to stay the night, just to be on the safe side.  Head wounds can be tricky.”  

****

With this, the matron gave Callidus’s shoulder a gentle squeeze, and she ambled off.  The woolliness in Callidus’s head was fast fading and his dizziness was gone.  All that was left was that odd, tight feeling on his back and legs.  His black eyes met Granger’s brown ones.  He looked away unhappily before looking back up at her.

****

 “I - erm - Thank you, Granger.  For saving my life,” Callidus said, forcing the words out.  “And - well - I apologize for accusing you of -”  Callidus couldn’t bring himself to finish.

****

Granger nodded.  “Apology accepted,” she said in clipped tones.  “And - you’re welcome.”

****

Both of them looked away.  Granger stared towards the wall, while Callidus looked out one of the windows.  His irritation towards Granger had vanished, and all he felt now was a vast hollowness.

****

 ‘I’m in shock,’ a small part of his mind observed. ‘That’s why I don’t feel anything.’

****

The silence between Callidus and Granger felt endless, but it was Granger her broke it first.  “Are you going to be alright?” she asked, her voice quiet.

****

He wanted to snap at her.  He wanted to accuse her of false kindness - of trying to act the part of a righteous Gryffindor.  But he couldn’t do it.  Instead, he gave her a stiff nod, unable to look her in the eye.  The gaping silence settled between them once again.

****

This time, Callidus broke it.  “You don’t have to stay here with me, you know.”

****

Granger pursed her lips.  Callidus almost thought she might be upset by his comment.

****

 “You’d be all alone if I left,” Granger replied.

****

 “What’s wrong with being alone?  You’re alone all the time,” Callidus retorted.  Granger’s eyes widened, and he could see a sheen of tears, threatening to spill.  Silently Callidus cursed himself.  Granger had saved his life, and he was all but mocking her for having no friends.  Granger stood up, and turned away to leave.

****

 “I didn’t mean it like that, Granger!” Callidus called out to her.  She turned back to him, her brows furrowed and her lips pursed.  She wiped her eyes with her sleeve, looking like she was angry at herself because of her own vulnerability.  Her gaze had returned to the wall, rather than meeting Callidus’s eyes, but now that she was standing here, he had no idea what to say to her.

****

 “Look, it’s been a rather trying day,” Callidus explained.  “I’ve spent the entire day convinced that I’d die by some sort of gruesome broomstick accident.  I should have known that I was supposed to watch out for exploding chairs instead.”

****

A muffled snort of laughter escaped Granger’s lips, but she pursed her lips tight.  For some reason, Callidus felt better now that he had gotten Granger to laugh.  He figured it was because he couldn’t deal with crying girls. 

****

 “Anyhow -” Callidus trailed off.

****

 “No, I think I understand,” Granger replied.  “I - I suppose I’ll go back to the Charms classroom and get you your satchel.”

****

 “You don’t have to,” Callidus said.  It was like Granger was determined to collect favour after favour from him.  He didn’t want to owe her any more than he already did.

****

 “I don’t mind.  I imagine you’d prefer to have something to do while you’re here.  I know I would.”

****

Callidus wanted to protest further, but Granger was already walking away.  Callidus squeezed his eyes shut and groaned.  Gryffindors!

****

Soon after Granger left, Harry and Malfoy entered the infirmary, trailed by a hesitant looking Davis.

****

 “Cal!”  Harry called out, walking towards Callidus’s bed.  “Are you alright?  I heard that you almost died!  But Slughorn wouldn’t let me off of detention early.”

****

 “Yeah - I’m okay now.”

****

 “What happened?”  Harry asked, his green eyes scanning his friend with anxiety.  Malfoy and Davis looked over Callidus with open curiosity.

****

 “Apparently my chair exploded,” Callidus replied in an offhand manner, as though he were discussing nothing more important than whether he preferred his eggs scrambled or fried.

****

 “Exploded?!”  Harry exclaimed.  “What?!”

****

 “Yes.  Exploded.  Probably someone’s idea of a prank.  A rather violent one at that,” Callidus added.

****

 “Were you badly hurt?” Harry asked.

****

 “I hit my head when I fell,” Callidus replied.  For some reason, he didn’t want the others to know how bad it had been.  Perhaps he would confide in Harry if Harry was alone, but there was no reason for Malfoy and Davis to know though.  Moreover, he didn’t want to reveal that he owed a Life Debt to Granger, of all people.  If the Slytherins knew, he’d never hear the end of it.

****

 “Prank you say?” asked Malfoy.  “Do you figure it’s the Weasley twins?  Heard that the pair of them could be nasty.”

****

 “We didn’t see anyone,” Callidus replied with a shrug.

****

 “Maybe you just happened to insult the wrong person,” Malfoy smirked.

****

Callidus snorted. “Are you suggesting that it’s so hard to keep up with my wit that you tried to kill me, Malfoy?”

****

Malfoy rolled his eyes.  “Hardly.”

****

 “Are you allowed to leave?”  Harry asked.

****

Callidus shook his head.  “Since I banged my head, Pomfrey wants me to stay overnight.”  Callidus turned to Malfoy.  “That means I won’t have to listen to you whimpering to your mother in your sleep.”

****

 “I do not whimper to my mother!” Malfoy countered.

****

 “No?  Oh, my mistake,” Callidus said insincerely.  “You must be the one with uncontrollable nighttime flatulence then.”

****

 “I do not - Ugh - It’s a shame that chair didn’t kill you, Prince,” Malfoy muttered. 

****

 “Death by Chair.  That would be an interesting epitaph on your tombstone,” Davis murmured, her expression as grave as ever.

****

For some reason, this made Callidus laugh.  “That’d be an ignominious way to die.  Though it would probably make Malfoy happy.”

****

 “I dare say it would,” Malfoy smirked.  “Put me in a good enough mood and I might even dance on your grave.”

****

 “I’d come back as a ghost just to see it,” Callidus replied, amused.

****

The four of them were interrupted by the return of Granger, who had Callidus’s book bag. 

****

 “Er - Hi, Prince.  Sorry to interrupt.  I’ll just leave your satchel here,” Granger said, setting Callidus’s book bag on the chair where she had been sitting.  “Erm - see you later.”

****

Callidus nodded at her, and Granger quickly left.  It felt awkward, interacting with her in a friendly manner around the other Slytherins, since it was a surefire way to draw their mockery.

****

 “Consorting with the enemy, are we?” Malfoy drawled.  Callidus noticed that Malfoy had refrained from calling her a ‘mudblood’ or even ‘muggleborn.’  It seemed like progress.

****

 “I get tired of dumbing myself down to speak to you, so it helps to talk to other people instead,” Callidus replied coolly.

****

 “Is that what you’re calling it?” Malfoy asked, his expression speculative.  “If you say so Prince.”

****

 “Is it just a Slytherin thing to show how much you like another person by insulting them?” Harry pondered. “Or do the other Houses talk the same way?”

****

 “I - we do not like each other!” Malfoy protested. 

****

 “It pains me to have to agree with you, Malfoy,” Callidus said.

****

Harry just laughed, his green eyes shining with levity.  Harry, Malfoy, and surprisingly Davis ended up keeping Callidus company until Madam Pomfrey shooed them away for the night.  With his friend(s) gone, Callidus grabbed his book bag, determined to finish off his Transfiguration paper.  

****

He was so absorbed with his assignment that he did not hear Dumbledore entering the infirmary.  The headmaster glided up to Callidus’s hospital bed, his footsteps silent.  From the corner of his eye, Callidus was assailed with the sight of salmon coloured robes embroidered with what looked like bronze-coloured chimeras.  

****

 “Good evening, Callidus,” the headmaster said serenely.  “How are you feeling, my boy?  I was just speaking to Filius earlier.”

****

 “Hello Professor Dumbledore.  Considering I spent the day fearing for my safety and my life, I’d say I’ve seen better days,” Callidus said sardonically.  “What did Flit - Professor Flitwick have to say?”

****

 “Filius believes that  _ Bombarda  _ was likely the reason for your chair exploding.  If it had been  _ Reducto  _ or  _ Expulso _ , Miss Granger should have seen a blue light.  Ah - but no sense worrying about it now.  We’re doing our utmost to find the culprit.”

****

Callidus hummed.  He didn’t know what Dumbledore was actually doing.  But he wasn’t keen on wasting his time seeking out the prankster (at least he told himself it was a prankster).  He had better things to worry about, like surpassing Granger in his classes.  Hogwarts was a school - not an Auror department and he wasn’t about to go chasing down mischief makers.  Yes, better to leave such things to the adults.  That was their job anyway.

****

 “I must ask though, did you notice anything, before your chair exploded?” Dumbledore continued.

****

Callidus shook his head.  He wasn’t about to admit that he was too preoccupied by swotty Granger, and the ten-plus-inches of her Transfigurations essay.  He also wasn’t about to admit that he hoped she was so distraught by his accident that she wouldn’t be able to concentrate on said paper.  It really didn’t seem right that she had so much more written than he did, or so his reasoning went.

****

 “Ah well,” the headmaster said.  There was an expression of humour in his eyes.  Not for the first time, Callidus wondered if Dumbledore could read minds.  But this was magic - in all likelihood, mind-reading was very possible.  Callidus decided it was best to go the library right away to figure it out, since he wouldn’t put it past Dumbledore to be the sort of wizard who liked to scour through people’s thoughts.  Callidus scowled.  Meddlesome old man.  Disturbingly, Dumbledore only looked more mirthful.

****

 “Did you only come here to check up on my health, or was there something else you wished to pry into?” Callidus asked, with an acerbic edge in his voice.

****

There was no question that Dumbledore’s eyes were twinkling now.  “You can’t fault an old man for wanting to know what his students are up to.”

****

 “If it’s gossip you crave, you may want to try Parkinson.”

****

 “Ah, but that would deprive me of the pleasure of your company, Callidus,” the headmaster replied cheerfully.  Sometimes, Callidus got the impression that the headmaster liked Callidus’s caustic manner of speaking.  Dumbledore certainly never chided him for it.

****

Callidus issued an affected sigh.  “Ask away Professor.  What do you want to know?”

****

Dumbledore beamed.  “How is Harry doing?”  Callidus should have known the question was coming.

****

Callidus looked away from the headmaster, his expression thoughtful.  As infuriating as Dumbledore could be, Callidus felt safe unburdening himself to the old man.  Perhaps it was the whole grandfather act, or perhaps it was just that he needed to free himself of the heavy weight of his own doubts and worries.

****

 “To be honest, I had my doubts in the beginning - that is, about Harry’s sorting into Slytherin,”  Callidus flicked a glance at Dumbledore, and he thought something flashed in the old man’s eyes.  He filed away the observation.  Perhaps Dumbledore hadn’t expected a Slytherin sorting either. 

****

 “Harry isn’t really like the other Slytherins,” Callidus continued.  “The more I get to know him, the more I find it to be true.  I mean, Harry is clever, and he is resourceful.  And I don’t doubt that Harry would be loyal to his own.  But -”

****

Dumbledore raised his eyebrows by a small fraction, in an encouraging gesture for Callidus to continue.

****

 “But Harry seems so candid.  You can read him like a book, and in Slytherin, that seems like it would be a fatal weakness.  I - well, I hate to admit it, but without Malfoy’s influence, I’m not sure how Harry would have fared.”

****

Dumbledore’s eyes seemed to say: ‘Go on.’

****

 “Malfoy may be a hopelessly spoiled brat, whose rich upbringing means that he doesn’t have a lick of sense when it comes to the real world - and who somehow believes that spending an hour on his hair is a worthwhile use of time - who, for some reason actually believes that people care about every word that drops from his mouth, and believe me, that arrogant blighter loves to hear himself talk - and who thinks that good manners are a synonymous with being a decent person -” Callidus realized he was starting to get rather heated as he ranted about Malfoy, so he took a deep breath.  

****

When he peered back towards Dumbledore, the dratted old man looked like he was trying to hold back a laugh.  Curse him!  It wasn’t Callidus’s fault that Malfoy was such a pest.  But all Dumbledore did was make a noncommittal humming noise, as his eyes sparkled with merriment.

****

 “As I was saying -” Callidus continued. “As aggravating as Malfoy is, he has eased Harry’s entry into Slytherin.  Malfoy may be a first year, but his surname is known by almost everyone, and his family’s wealth is legendary.  And for some reason, Harry finds it easy to speak his mind to Malfoy.  I need not tell you that in Slytherin, witches and wizards sharpen their tongues as though their lives depended on the keenness of their edge.  It’s practically a form of entertainment to try and think up insults with as many layers as a strawberry trifle.”  Callidus huffed.

****

 “But Harry is really quite sharp, in his own way.  Though he isn’t like the rest of them, he’s learned to hold his own.  I thought the Slytherins would be quick to tear him down, but the others like him.”  Callidus frowned.  “I think - well it’s a bit strange, but it’s almost as though Harry’s weaknesses are his strengths.  By being an open book, the Slytherins have relaxed towards him - they aren’t constantly trying to ferret out his sore spots because Harry’s so ready to show them.  And Harry likes them, so they like Harry.  If they were anyone other than Slytherins, I’d say that they trusted Harry.  Strange, isn’t it?”

****

Dumbledore’s answering smile was mysterious.  “Not strange at all, my boy,” Dumbledore said, his voice gentle.  “I think you underestimate the power of love.”

****

Callidus’s expression was incredulous.  “Love?  Professor, life isn’t a story by  _ Beedle the Bard _ .  You don’t have to patronize me.”

****

 “I’m not patronizing you at all, Callidus.  I have only the deepest respect for your intellect.”

****

Callidus pursed his lips, unsure of whether to believe Dumbledore or not.  But the headmaster distracted Callidus with his next question.

****

 “Do you trust Draco?”

****

 “Have you not been listening to a word I’ve said?”  Callidus asked with exasperation.  But the headmaster only smiled with calm patience.  Callidus huffed.  “I’d trust Malfoy if I had him under the  _ Imperius  _ curse and could dictate all his actions.”  

****

The corners of Dumbledore’s lips quirked upwards.  “Is that so.  Well, it’s getting quite late.  I’d best leave you to your rest.  Good night, Callidus.”

****

 “Professor - you’ll tell me if you find whoever exploded my chair, won’t you?”  Callidus asked.  He needed to hear from Dumbledore’s mouth that the headmaster would take care of the problem.

****

 “Of course, my boy.”


	14. Chapter 14

The following morning, Callidus met up with the other Slytherin first years in the Great Hall.  When he arrived, the others were already seated, and he took his usual spot next to Harry.

****

 “Morning Cal,” Harry grinned.  “You’re looking better.”

****

Before Callidus could respond, Greengrass taunted: “I heard you nearly got defeated by a chair, Prince.”

****

There were snickers of amusement from the others.  But their eyes turned towards him, awaiting his response with raised eyebrows and expectant expressions.  

****

 “Were you up all night worrying about me, Greengrass?  It must have been bad because your beauty spell seems to be slipping.  I can see the dark circles under your eyes,” Callidus replied with a mocking smile.

****

He wasn’t sure if he had scored a hit, but when Greengrass foolishly lifted her hands to her face, he knew he had gotten her.  It was a lucky guess that she actually used beauty spells.  When the other Slytherins started to laugh, Greengrass flushed to an angry shade of red.

****

 “So what actually happened?” Zabini asked, in his smooth voice.  The dark boy was so self-possessed that he barely even sounded curious.

****

 “Was it the Weasley twins?”  Nott asked.  Greengrass shot Nott an angry glare, as though angry at his interest.  Nott bit his lip and looked down at his food.  The rest of the Slytherins looked towards the Gryffindor table, where the prankster twins sat.  But if it was the Weasley twins, they showed no reaction.

****

Callidus shrugged.  “No idea.”

****

 “Whoever did it, they’ll regret messing with the Slytherins,” Millicent Bulstrode said threateningly.  Her words were emphasized by the rather aggressive way she stabbed the bangers on her plate.

****

Callidus was surprised by her statement.  His time spent in the muggle primary school and predisposed him to seeing the worse in people, and as a result, he had formed a rather low opinion of Bulstrode’s intelligence.  Hearing her support of him made him feel guilty, and he felt a pang of awareness that his own preconceptions prevented him from seeing the different facets of the people around him.  He gave the heavyset girl a weak smile in appreciation.  She nodded, as she stuck the banger in her mouth, and chewed with a hard-eyed fierceness.  Now that he thought about it, Bulstrode actually was a bit intimidating.  It was easy to underestimate the big girl, when one saw her in the common room, cuddling her pet cat.

****

 “It was probably a Gryffindor,” Nott speculated, ignoring Greengrass’s vexed looks.

****

 “It wouldn’t have been a first year.  We were all in detention,” Parkinson said.  She looked towards Callidus, her expression sly.  “Do you have any enemies you haven’t told us about, _Cal_?”

****

Callidus gritted his teeth.  He hated being called ‘Cal’ by anyone other than Harry.  And maybe Hagrid.  “Not that I’m aware of, _Pans_.”

****

 “Maybe it was Granger, trying to take out the competition,” Zabini said, through half-lidded eyes.

****

Parkinson whooped with glee.  “I should have thought of that sooner!  Have any of you noticed her face when Slughorn calls on Cal instead of Granger in class?  I swear, she looks like someone’s feeding her a spoonful of vinegar, every time it happens.”

****

 “It wasn’t Granger,” Callidus ground out.  This caused all the Slytherins looked at him with surprise.  For several of them, the surprise became calculating consideration, and he knew he had made a mistake.

****

 “She’s too much of a goody-good Gryffindor,” Callidus added, trying to cover up his slip.

****

Parkinson smiled lazily.  “True.”  She looked like a kneazle that had just gotten away with eating someone’s pet golden snidget.  Zabini, and even Malfoy wore the same expression.  It took all of Callidus’s effort to keep his expression neutral, instead of scowling.

****

Since it was Friday, they had double Potions with Slughorn.  Callidus usually enjoyed Potions (even if the first year material was very basic).  But every time Slughorn called on him, the Slytherins would conspicuously look towards Granger.  Callidus was clenching his jaw so hard, he was surprised that his teeth hadn’t cracked.  Even Harry was looking at Granger, but in Harry’s case, it was simple curiosity, rather than Slytherin slyness.

****

 “She really does look like someone’s feeding her vinegar!” Harry whispered to Callidus.  Malfoy and Zabini, who sat in front of them, could barely muffle their snorts, causing Slughorn to notice their amusement.  To Callidus’s immeasurable relief, Slughorn only gave them a perplexed smile before continuing his lesson.

****

The Slytherins were so obvious that even Granger had noticed.  The bushy-haired girl kept looking at him with confusion, before pursing her lips, and turning towards the front of the class.  Callidus both longed for Potions to end, and yet dreaded it.  

****

As he anticipated, the Slytherin first years took delight in ribbing him once they were out of class and it was only through sheer effort that Callidus remained unresponsive.  Unable to get a rise out of him, the other students finally let the matter go, and spoke of other things.  The group of them made their way down to the Slytherin dungeons.  Callidus, Harry and Malfoy sat in their usual spot, joined by Davis and Parkinson.  

****

For the past two week, Malfoy had been attempting to teach Harry how to play wizard’s chess.  Thus, the pair of them settled down to a quiet game.  In ability, Malfoy and Callidus were comparable.  They had played together once, when Harry had asked for a demonstration.  But for the most part, they avoided direct interactions.  Callidus sometimes thought that Malfoy liked playing against Harry because Malfoy liked winning, so it was fortunate then that Harry was never troubled by losing.

****

Callidus was half listening to Parkinson and Davis gossiping about a fourth year (“Apparently, her parents disowned her when they found out she was dating a penniless ‘Puff, even though she was already betrothed to a boy from Durmstrang.”)  He was also half reading a book on Potion bases, when it occurred to him that he had meant to stop by the library.  He wanted to see if there was any validity to his hypothesis that Dumbledore was a mind-reader.

****

 “I’m going to head off to the library,” Callidus informed Harry, who smiled and nodded.  He avoided looking at Malfoy (but if he had, he would have seen a wide smirk.)

****

As Callidus stood and crossed the common room, he was intercepted by the handsome Wystan Overcliff.

****

 “Callidus,” Wystan called out, his mossy green eyes creased in a warm smile.  “I finished looking over your paper.”  


 “Already?” Callidus asked with surprise.  He had only just given Wystan the paper yesterday morning.  Wystan flashed his white teeth in a bright grin, pulling the marked essay out of his satchel, handing the parchment back to Callidus.

****

 “My comments are in green ink,” Wystan continued.  

****

 “Oh!  Thank you, Wystan.”

****

 “Snape - our old Head of House - used to use blood red ink whilst marking,” Wystan said, conversationally.  “Quite liberally, I might add.  I kind of his miss his sharp comments.  Slughorn is nowhere near as cutting.  Are you heading out?”

****

It was odd and unsettling to hear about his past-self from the other student.  Whoever that Severus Snape had been felt like a stranger to Callidus.  

****

 “I just wanted to see if I could find something at the library,” Callidus replied.

****

 “Ah.  I’ll walk with you then,” Wystan said tilting his head invitingly towards the exit.  “My girlfriend’s probably there anyway.  You know how Ravenclaws are.  And I wanted to discuss your paper.”

****

The filed out of the common room exit and turned into the torch-lit corridor.

****

 “When you mentioned that you were planning to write your paper on ingredient preparation, I thought I was in for a dry simplistic read,” Wystan remarked.  “I mean, if it had been a simplistic read, I still would have taken it seriously - it’s not as though I expect to be bowled over by a first year essay.  But there are things you’ve written about that aren’t even covered in any of our classes.  I used a question mark to denote anything that was beyond my expertise and underlined anything that needed correction.  Not that I’m saying I didn’t understand what you were writing - it’s just that you’ll have to get old Sluggy to clarify some of the concepts.  Some of what you researched is still theoretical.  You seem to have a good grasp on basics and theory, but there’s definitely a few things where you made incorrect assumptions.  Still impressive though.”

****

Wystan looked over Callidus with appraising glance.  “Slughorn mentioned you were aiming to get your Potions mastery at nineteen.”  Wystan’s lip curled up in a smile.  “Our old Head of House got his at twenty.  Has anyone mentioned that you kind of resemble him?  Are you a relation of Snape’s?”

****

Callidus had no idea how to answer that.  “Um - distantly, I think,” Callidus lied, keeping his eyes straight ahead rather than facing Wystan.  They turned a corner and walked up a set of narrow, curving stairs.

****

Wystan chuckled with good-humour.  “It wouldn’t surprise me if someone told me you were his son.  But Snape never had children of his own.  Not that I know of anyway.  Anyhow, I thought what you wrote about preparing ingredients by soaking them in magical spring water was interesting.  Especially since water doesn’t always carry magic very well.  Magical springs are quite rare.  I heard of one spring in the Himalayas that apparently causes profound mental clarity when you drink it.  It even affects muggles - enlightenment, they call it.  At least I think that was what it was.”

****

 “It surprised me that you didn’t jump into practical work immediately,” Wystan continued.  “Most people would be eager to start brewing, rather than laying out the foundations.  Admirable, really.  Anyhow, how are you liking Slytherin House so far?  Enjoying the snake pit?”  Wystan’s expression was inquiring.  His interest seemed genuine.  

****

Callidus hummed.  “It’s - a little like navigating your way through a nest of scorpions.  In the dark.”

****

Wystan threw his head back and laughed.  “That’s one way of putting it.  It keeps you sharp though.  Sometimes I feel like the students in the other Houses only survive through sheer dumb luck.  It sometimes amazes me that other people don’t realize how vulnerable they are at every moment.  All it takes is a single well aimed spell, and Bam!  You’re dead.”

****

Callidus looked up at Wystan in surprise.  Wystan’s lip curled up at the corner.  “Ha!  I get that look all the time.  People have a tendency to forget that I’m still a Slytherin at heart.  Even if I don’t alway seem like one.  I think one of the biggest weaknesses of a lot of the Slytherins is that they don’t work enough on their ‘public’ face.  Oh, I know that most Slytherins’ll be all refined and polished around other purebloods.  But then they’ll show an entirely different side of themselves to muggleborns and half-bloods.  I always thought that was stupid.”

****

 “A mask only works it if’s complete,” Wystan continued.  “And a goal is easier to achieve when you have allies rather than enemies.  If you only have one or two enemies, it’s easier to crush them.  If half the population is your enemy, your odds are pretty bad.  It’s always been my philosophy that enemies should be eliminated and crushed completely.”

****

Wystan’s eyes glittered as he smiled, and Callidus shivered.  “You look rather pale,” Wystan laughed.  “Don’t worry, I don’t have any enemies at the moment, and I prefer to keep it that way.  I like you Callidus.  I get the sense that we can be good friends.”

****

They turned another corner that led to the library entrance.  “Anyway, you’ll be using the Potions lab next week?”

****

 “Yeah,” Callidus replied, stopping at the entrance of the library.  “A Hiccoughing Solution.”

****

Wystan’s expression was thoughtful.  “Good choice.  It’s a complex and finicky potion, but not dangerous to brew.  I look forward to seeing your efforts.  Oh, there’s Calanthe!  I’ll talk to you later then, Callidus.”

****

Callidus nodded.  Wystan turned and wove his way through the library tables to where his girlfriend was sitting, while Callidus ventured through the aisles of the library, trying to find anything he could related to mind-reading.  He did a quick, cursory search and then a second, more through one.  To his surprise, he failed to find anything.  Did that mean mind-reading didn’t exist?  He decided to ask the librarian, Madam Pince.

****

Madam Irma Pince had parchment like skin, sallow cheeks and a hooked nose.  Her complexion was even worse than his own.  As Callidus walked up to her desk, she frowned irritably.  The closer he got, the more her eyes glittered with hostility.  He considered veering away, but he forced himself forward.  Trying not to squeak, he asked her if the library had any books about mind-reading.

****

 “Do you have a signed note, boy?” Madam Pince asked, glaring down at Callidus as though he were a disgusting beetle.

****

 “Note?”

****

 “No note, no access to the Restricted Section,” the librarian said with a nasty edge to her voice.  She looked away, as though she couldn’t stand the sight of him anymore.  

****

Uncomfortable with the woman’s rather hateful demeanour, Callidus ambled off, deciding to return to the Slytherin dungeons.  Madam Pince hadn’t been particularly helpful, but at least he a clue.  He didn’t know what mind-reading magic might be called, but he learned that it existed, and there was information about it in the restricted section.

****

After the exploding chair incident, Callidus’s interactions with Granger changed - at least they did in detentions with Flitwick.  Outside of detention, and even during flying lessons, their exchanges (or lack thereof) remained the same.  Within Flitwick’s classroom, instead of complete silence, they said things like “Hi” and “Hello.”  Sometimes, there was even a “How are things?”  There was also the occasional “What did you write about wrist flexibility for that charms essay?”  or “Did you also include the concentration variable in the transfiguration equation?”

****

Callidus could tell that Granger often wanted to say something more to him, but she held herself back.  She was the sort of girl where one could almost literally see the thoughts flying in her head.  Granger was sharp-witted and observant and there was a possibility that Callidus respected her.  But this was something that no one needed to know.  Not even Granger.  

****

In truth, there were things he wanted to say to Granger as well.  He didn’t care about her background or her life, but he had a feeling that if he let himself open up to her, the two of them could have some interesting intellectual debates.  But she was a Gryffindor, and he was a Slytherin.  And unlike someone like Malfoy, he wasn’t high enough on the Slytherin hierarchy to get away with breaking Slytherin norms.

****

September passed into early October.  The weather was still nice enough that a large majority of the students spent their weekends outdoors and the Slytherin first years were no exception.  A favourite haunt of many of the Slytherins was a courtyard known as the Quad.  The courtyard was walled in with a tower at each corner.  There were stone benches where students could sit, and a balcony ringed the perimeter of the courtyard.  To a rich pureblood like Malfoy, the Quad might bright to mind a similitude of a ballroom - it was a place that the Slytherins went to see and be seen.  

****

The Quad was where Callidus, Harry and several of the other first years gathered, when Harry wasn’t flying with Malfoy (sometimes joined by Davis and Finnigan, sometimes not).  Harry and Malfoy rarely ever flew for more than two hour long stretches.  During that time, Callidus usually went to the library.  He could have just done his reading or homework in the Slytherin dungeons, but more often than not, he headed over the library.  Granger was almost always there, and he would give her a civil nod, before sitting down at a different table.  He never spoke to her in the library, and she in turn, never spoke to him.

****

It was a crisp and lovely Sunday afternoon.  The blue sky was broken by tiger-stripe like clouds in long parallel lines.  Callidus, Harry and Malfoy were in the Quad, and for once, they weren’t joined by any of the other first years.  It would have been even better if Malfoy were gone, but Callidus supposed that one couldn’t have everything.

****

 “I’m so tired of learning theory,” Harry griped.  Harry was sitting cross-legged on the paved stone floor, next to Callidus.  Across from them, Malfoy sat on one of the stone benches, probably enjoying his elevated seat.  Of course, Malfoy complained that Harry’s position was undignified.  Harry just rolled his eyes and ignored him.

****

 “When are we going to do more wand-work?” Harry continued.  “It’s not as though Merlin sat around studying theory.”

****

 “Merlin was an extremely learned man,” Callidus said.  “And books usually omit the boring parts, like the hours that Merlin probably spent studying.”

****

At this, Harry frowned.  “What about druids then?  Did they even have writing during those times?”

****

 “Runes, I imagine,” Malfoy said.  “Back then, magic wasn’t like what it is now.  There was more wild magic and earth magic.  Wild magic and earth magic are both notoriously difficult to control.  Many of the Ancient Families still remember some of the Old Ways.  I know the Malfoys have some very old manuscripts about ancient magical rituals.  Even if the Ancient Families don’t practice the older magics, we still continue many of the traditions.  None of this muggle rubbish.”

****

 “Muggle rubbish?”  Harry’s lips turned downwards, ready to be offended.

****

“I don’t mean it like that!” Malfoy exclaimed.  “It’s just -” Malfoy’s expression was thoughtful, as he tried to organize his beliefs.  “Wizarding tradition is being forgotten.  Things that we’ve been doing for centuries are disappearing.  Witches and wizards aren’t muggles.”  

****

Malfoy’s explanation did not seem to clear anything up for Harry, who just raised his eyebrows.

****

 “Are you talking about the old festivals, like Beltane, Samhain and Yule?” Callidus asked.

****

 “Among other things.  Hallowe’en, Christmas and Easter are muggle traditions.”

****

 “I never celebrated any of them, even when I was living with muggles,” Harry said.  He seemed distant for a brief moment.  “You think the holidays are muggle rubbish?”

****

 “The old festivals _mean_ something,” Malfoy said, side-stepping Harry’s question.  “They’re not just about a feast and some colourful decorations.  They’re a homage to the earth where our magic came from.  Or they mark the passage of the sun and stars.  My father could tell you all about it.  He’s very traditional.  Anyway, I didn’t intend to get into a discussion about festivals.”

****

Harry hummed, his expression contemplative.  He stared up at one of the balconies before his gaze drifted back to Malfoy.  “How do you learn earth magic or wild magic?”

****

 “It’s not exactly something you learn.”  Malfoy knitted his brow, sitting forward.  “Accidental magic - the kind you do before you start school - is a type of wild magic.”

****

 “But I couldn’t control that,” Harry pointed out.

****

 “Just so,” Malfoy continued.  “Wild magic is often like that.  I don’t know if there are witches and wizards that can control wild magic.  Not that I’ve heard of.  But there are forms of magic between wild magic and modern magic.  Earth magic is kind of like that.  My father would know more about it.  He’s always advocated the Old Ways.  I suppose I could write and ask him more about it.  He might send me some books if I ask.  Some of the old magics are more intuitive - not at all like the precise magic we learn at Hogwarts.”

****

 “You forgot to add dangerous,” Callidus drawled, giving Malfoy a challenging look.

****

Malfoy huffed.  “Well - yes - old magic is often dangerous.  But it’s powerful magic if you’re capable of doing it.”  Malfoy’s grey eyes glittered with a hint of ambition.

****

 “That sounds really interesting!” Harry exclaimed.  Unfortunately, danger was never a deterrent for Harry.  “What other old magics are there?”

****

Malfoy hummed, a self-satisfied smile on his face.  He gave Callidus a look that said: ‘Harry finds me more interesting than he finds you.’

****

Callidus rolled his eyes.  But in truth, Malfoy did know much more about ancient magic than Callidus did.  The Prince family likely knew just as much when the bloodline was still extant and powerful.  The things that Malfoy was explaining to them were the things that had given Eileen Prince/Snape her sense of pride in who she was.  As much as it annoyed him, Callidus was eager to hear what Malfoy had to say.

****

 “A lot of the very Old Ways used sacrificial magic - er - that’s animal sacrifices and such,” Malfoy explained.  “You can imagine why that lost its popularity.  But viscera and blood in general have a great deal of power.  That’s why animal and insect parts are often used in potions.  And there are still blood rituals that don’t involve killing anything.  Like blood brotherhoods, or identification magic, which the goblins use at Gringotts.”

****

 “Blood brotherhood?  Is that like a cult?”

****

 “Come again?  Cult?”  Malfoy looked bewildered.  “No.  It’s like - if you have a friend who isn’t related to you, but you want to bind them as family.”

****

 “Blood brothers!” Harry exclaimed.  “We should do that!”

****

Malfoy and Callidus both looked at Harry with surprise.  Though in truth, neither of them should have been so startled.  In the month or so that they had gotten to know Harry, both of them had noticed Harry’s impulsive nature.

****

 “Shouldn’t you at least ask what a blood brotherhood entails?” Callidus said to Harry.

****

Both Harry and Callidus looked at Malfoy expectantly.

****

 “I don’t recall all the details - I read about it in our library at the Manor years ago,” Malfoy began, though his voice quickly took on a lofty tone.  “Wizards that choose to undergo the blood brotherhood ritual will have a bond closer than that of brothers.  It is a magical oath to never betray one another.  A blood brother that betrays his bonded kin will suffer ‘the anguish of heartbreak and the deepest dishonour.’  I asked my father if the heartbreak meant that your heart will actually break, but he wasn’t sure.  With these old spells, it’s quite possible.  Father said he isn’t aware of anyone who has done the blood brotherhood ritual in recent times.  I suppose the risk is too high - heartbreak and all that.”

****

 “How can someone die of heartbreak?  Isn’t that just a feeling?”  Harry asked, his face scrunched up.

****

 “Of course not!” Malfoy exclaimed. “Well, it can mean both, I suppose - a feeling and a way of dying.  One of my ancient ancestors died of heartbreak.  In fact, his portrait is hanging in our portrait gallery.  I asked him about it once - he said it was horribly painful.  Like his heart was being shattered into a million pieces.  And then he was dead.”

****

Harry frowned.  “That sounds - awful.”

****

 “Years ago, I thought it would be a brilliant idea to use the blood brotherhood ritual to bind Crabbe and Goyle,” Malfoy confided.  “When my father found out, he was furious.  I suppose in retrospect that I’m glad Crabbe and Goyle aren’t my blood brothers.”

****

 “I wish I had a brother.  Or brothers,” Harry said wistfully.  In truth, Callidus and even Malfoy felt the same way.  None of them had siblings after all.

****

 “How does the ritual work?”  Harry asked.  Callidus shot him a suspicious glance, and even Malfoy’s expression was calculating.

****

 “Most old magics are very simple,” Malfoy explained.  “Intent is usually the most important factor.  Aside from that, you have to mingle your blood - even a simple prick on your finger would do.  In the old days, you usually had to do it at certain locations, like at ley lines or nodes, or under the full or new moon.  But with modern wands, it’s easier to channel the magic.  Either way, old magic is finicky.  It tends to submit to the will of wizards who have the most power.”  Malfoy shrugged.

****

Callidus considered Malfoy’s explanation.  He had a feeling that between the three of them, Harry was the most powerful wizard, however, Malfoy didn’t know this.  Despite the risks, it was easy to see that Harry was taken by the whole idea.  But unlike Harry, Callidus felt uneasy about the idea of a brotherhood bond.  He might wish that Harry actually was his brother, but using an ancient blood ritual didn’t necessarily seem like the best way to strengthen a relationship.  There was too much that could go wrong.  It was fortunate that Malfoy looked just as wary of the whole idea as Callidus.  As much as all of them might crave brotherhood, it seemed best if Harry were to forget the whole idea.

****

Later in the afternoon, the trio ventured towards the edge of the Forest to visit Hagrid at his hut.  Callidus and Harry were both eager to see the half-giant, but Malfoy was dragging his feet.  Before they even caught sight of Hagrid, Fang, the boarhound, came bounding towards them.  The immense black dog’s tail wagged with wild enthusiasm and he leaped at Malfoy, slobbing everywhere.

****

 “Ack!  Blasted cur!” Malfoy exclaimed, trying to hold the dog at arm’s length.  Harry grinned at his friend.  Meanwhile Callidus smirked to see Malfoy’s inability to maintain his hauteur while covered in dog drool.

****

When Fang’s excitement had mellowed enough that he could keep all four paws on the ground, the boys continued towards Hagrid’s hut.  They found the half-giant tending his pumpkin patch, and when he saw them, his black eyes crinkled with welcome.

****

 “Hullo, you three!” Hagrid called out.  

****

 “Hi Hagrid,” Harry and Cal replied, while Malfoy gave a small, snooty nod.

****

 “How’ve yeh bin?” the half-giant asked, as he checked his pumpkins for leafminers and other pests.

****

Each of them gave Hagrid their response (though Malfoy was rather chilly as he said “quite well, thank you.”)  

****

 “What are the pumpkins for?”  Harry asked.  “Hallowe’en?”

****

Hagrid responded with a bright nod.  “Tha’s right.  Though they’ve got a few weeks o’ growing yet.”

****

As Harry and Hagrid chattered, Malfoy absently scratched Fang behind the ear.  The blond’s expression was pensive.  Was it the mention of Hallowe’en?  Callidus wasn’t certain whether the pumpkins were a muggle or magical tradition.

****

Though he would never say it to Malfoy’s face, the blond had sparked Callidus’s interest in old magic.  Even if it was crude in comparison to modern magic, it was still worth exploring, and Callidus didn’t doubt that old magic had a great deal of power.  In some cases, one had to channel magic from an external source, such as the case of earth magics.  But from Callidus’s limited understanding, he knew that such methods were often fatal.

****

After looking over all his pumpkins (some of which looked bigger than him and Harry combined if they scrunched into balls), Hagrid invited them into his hut for tea.  He had made treacle fudge, which tasted quite good, but it also contained unidentified bits of green flecks.  Hagrid also offered to make them stoat sandwiches, but even Harry refused that.

****

As the three of them headed back to the Slytherin dungeons in the early evening, Malfoy spoke.

****

 “Pumpkins are a muggle perversion of Samhain,” he said.  “The use of pumpkins was something that was started in the New World.”

****

Harry hummed.  “The whole thing is a bit odd, isn’t it?  But I always thought that pumpkin pie smelled delicious.  My aunt used to make it, but I was never allowed to have any.”

****

Callidus and Malfoy frowned.  It was rather depressing to consider ill-treatment at the hands of muggles (for either Harry or Callidus).

****

 “I imagine they’ll serve it at the Hallowe’en feast,” Callidus said.  

****

 “So no one ever used pumpkins for Hallowe’en until the Americans?”  Harry asked.  

****

Malfoy grimaced.  “Well, in the Old World, the muggles used turnips.  Witches and Wizards use magical flames and magical bonfires, of course.  There are special flames for the various festivals which each have special significance.  Samhain is one of the most magical periods of the year.  During ancient times, before wands were common, druids, shamans, sorcerers and seers would enact their most important spells on Samhain.  It’s both the best and most dangerous time to work earth magic.  There’s a reason that both wizards and muggles regard Samhain as a festival of the dead.”

****

Callidus and Harry listened with interest.  “What do you usually do for Samhain?”

****

 “My father and mother, and some of their old family friends will usually have a Samhain bonfire,” Malfoy explained.  “There are some old magic rituals that can further thin the boundaries between our world, and the world of the fey or of other spirits.  But in our times, it has become increasingly rare to ever catch sight of the fey.  Some believe that they’re gone forever.  Before the Statute of Wizarding Secrecy, the muggles used to try and mimic wizarding magic with guising and mumming.”

****

Malfoy frowned.  “It will be strange, not to celebrate Samhain this year.  It’s my mother’s favourite festival.  She would always say that Samhain made her feel like a brand new person every year.”

****

 “Can’t you celebrate it here?  We could try our own Samhain, couldn’t we, Cal?  There’s probably books about it in the library,” Harry said.

****

The corner of Callidus’s lip quirked upwards. “Are you actually suggesting going to the library, Harry?”

****

Harry rolled his eyes, but there was a hint of an amused smile.  "More like pointing out the inevitable."


	15. Chapter 15

By the end of the second week of October, the first year's month long detention was finally over.  If any of the Slytherins felt a greater sense of acceptance towards the Gryffindors, none of them admitted it.  All except Harry, but Harry had a tendency to make his own rules.  Callidus knew that he should have been glad that their detentions were done, but in reality, he missed the evenings in the Charms classroom.  They were quiet and peaceful (as long as his chair wasn’t exploding), and he found that he was able to get a great deal of schoolwork done.

****

But he denied (to himself) that Granger had anything to do with it.  It was true that she was an intelligent companion, but he let himself believe that she was just too different, and too Gryffindor-ish.  Besides, even if he no longer saw her in detentions, he’d see her in the library.  They had the sort of relationship where they could nod in acknowledgement of each other.  He thought it was too bad that he could no longer peek over at her assignments to see what she was writing.  It was helpful to keep abreast of the competition after all.  But he wasn’t about to sit next to her in the library.  However, none of this fully explained the sense hollowness that Callidus felt.

****

As the days crept closer to Samhain, the trio felt more and more eager.  Malfoy’s descriptions of the Old Ways had infected both Harry’s and Callidus’s imagination.  Both Harry and Callidus had had negative experiences with muggles.  Consequently, they were eager to disassociate themselves from muggle traditions.  In Harry’s case, he did not think badly of muggles - he was just enthusiastic about magic and wizardry.  As for Callidus, he had a low opinion of muggles.  He was nowhere near as forgiving as Harry was, and if given a choice, Callidus would have been happy to cut himself off from the muggles forever.

****

They were fortunate to have found several books in the library that related to old Wizarding festivals.  Many of the books were historical texts, but they did uncover two books that explained the spells to create magical flames.  This led the three of them to debate where they would want to cast the fire.  Malfoy felt that outdoors would be best - that was traditional after all.  But Callidus thought that it’d be a surefire way to get caught.  He didn’t want to risk losing House points and getting detention.  It remained a sore point between Malfoy and Callidus, and as it drew closer to Samhain, they still had not resolved their dispute.

****

Callidus’s independent potions studying was also going well.  He had learned to only press Slughorn for information when it came to the most advanced or theoretical ideas that he didn’t understand.  Slughorn was generally an amiable man, but the professor didn’t like to go out of his way to help students unless he could get something in return.  If Callidus asked Slughorn about concepts that the man thought was too basic, he’d say things such as “Surely Wystan could answer that for you,” or “That information can easy be found in the library.”  But obscure or challenging material fired up Slughorn’s interest.  He was a Potions Master after all.  Callidus found cutting edge potions research to be fascinating, but he was nowhere near proficient enough to carry on prolonged conversations with Slughorn.  So, while Slughorn may have been his mentor in name, Wystan was his mentor in practice.

****

Callidus had researched and brewed the Hiccoughing Solution in late September. Wystan described it as “quite impressive for a first year, but not a perfect effort.”  Pride would have demanded that Callidus try increasingly difficult potions, however, Callidus needed to make sure he had truly mastered the basics.  

****

So, over the span of two weeks in early October he brewed most of the second year potions (and two of the third year potions), just to make sure that he could.  Lower level potions could typically be brewed in an hour or less.  In fact, a large majority of them could be brewed in less than half-an-hour.  The reason for this was to ensure that the potion could actually be completed within a class block, so while it may have sounded like an impressive amount of brewing, in truth, it wasn’t that much work.  

****

Wystan was good-natured enough to supervise Callidus as he brewed his potions in Potions Lab Nine.  The older boy did not even complain, but praised Callidus’s efforts.

****

 “You’re a lot more level-headed about this than I would have thought, Callidus” Wystan had said.  “After that Hiccoughing Solution, I thought you’d get big-headed, and would want to push ahead and brew something more dangerous and challenging.  I’m glad to see you actually focusing on the fundamentals.”

****

Callidus had to admit, Wystan had a talent for praising people.  The two weeks were enough to convince Callidus that he had a firm grasp of the basics.  Lower level potions were considered such because as long as one could follow directions, they would come out perfectly.  Plus, it also helped that his mother had taught him the basics of ingredient preparation. 

****

Callidus noticed that the muggleborns or muggle-raised students like Harry struggled to tell the difference between chopping, slicing, slivering or dicing.  They also couldn’t seem to figure out the difference between grinding or powdering ingredients.  While it was gratifying to be able to make perfect (lower level) potions, he wanted a greater depth of understanding.  Lower level potions may have been an ‘exact art,’  but higher level potions were a ‘subtle science’  and it was this subtle science that attracted him to potion-making.

****

After his two weeks of lower level potions, Callidus decided against jumping into yet another brewing project. Instead, he was working on a paper about the eight types of magical potion reactions.  But all the while, his mind twisted and turned as he contemplated his next project.

****

More and more, Callidus was grateful that Slughorn had directed Callidus towards Wystan.  While Wystan was no genius as potions, he was still a seventh year with a lot of knowledge.  And more than that, Wystan was actually genuinely glad to help Callidus.  Moreover, Wystan respected Callidus’s intelligence, even if Callidus sometimes struggled to grasp certain details.

****

So, as Callidus got to know Wystan better, he felt comfortable discussing his ideas to the older boy.  One topic that featured heavily in Callidus’s mind was old magics.  Ever since Malfoy brought it up, both Callidus and Harry were swept up with the idea.  Ancient and mysterious magic (even if impractical), had a rather romantic quality.  It somehow felt more mystical and because it wasn’t taught at Hogwarts, it was a topic that drew the three boys together.  After all, it was one of the few interests shared between the three of them.  With his fascination for potions, Callidus couldn’t help but think about how to integrate the things he was discovering.

****

 “Do you know what you’re going to do for your next project?” Wystan had asked one day when  Callidus had gone to the older boy for an answer about magical emulsions.  

****

Callidus hummed.  “There’s been something on my mind.  Malfoy mentioned a while back how parts of living creatures such as their viscera or blood have powerful magical properties.  And potions certainly make use of a lot of animal parts.  I was trying to find research on the use of living as opposed to dead parts.  Do you know of anything?”

****

Wystan pursed his lips.  “All I can think of in reference to that is the use of live, fresh plants, as opposed to dried ones.  I assume you’ve already checked the library?”

****

Callidus nodded.

****

 “There might be something in the restricted section.  I’m not certain.  The stuff you’re talking about sounds borderline Dark.”  Despite his words, Wystan’s expression conveyed interest.  Most Slytherins didn’t shy away from magic that was almost, but not quite Dark.  “It’s too bad you couldn’t access Snape’s collection.  Back when he was still teaching, he had an extensive library of potions-related books.  But Snape probably took all his books when he left Hogwarts.”

****

Callidus froze in surprise.  He couldn’t believe that he hadn’t even considered his adult-self’s books!  When Callidus had moved from his old chambers into the Slytherin dormitories, most of his possessions went into a storage room in the dungeons.  Since his things hadn’t been in sight, Callidus had forgotten about them.  He had been too caught up in class work, friendships and detentions.

****

 “You have something in mind, don’t you?”  Wystan said, breaking Callidus’s train of thought.  Callidus looked towards the older boy in surprise.  Did Callidus’s face give something away?

****

 “I mean, for your next potions project,” Wystan added.

****

 “Oh!  Yes.  I have an idea of something I want to research,” Callidus replied.

****

Wystan looked at Callidus with a thoughtful expression, before a slow smile appeared on his face.  “I have a feeling that the next thing you brew won’t be just a matter of following a potions recipe.”

****

Callidus pursed his lips.  It was true, what Wystan was saying.  He didn’t want his personal education to consist of just following a recipe.  Anyone with a steady hand, patience, and an ability to follow detailed directions could brew most potions (even N.E.W.T. level potions).  It was a different matter to understand the intricacies of why a potion worked.  And even more challenging (and subtle) was the variable of magic itself.  The most difficult potions to create were difficult, not because they had more steps, or used more ingredients.  They were difficult because the right or wrong amount of magic created a cascade of effects that either resulted in a successful brew, or a useless (or dangerous) one.  When it came to potions, infusing more magic did not automatically result in a better or more powerful potion.

****

And to make it even more complicated, there were multiple ways to imbue a potion with magic.  The number of stirs (and direction of stirs) was one of the most basic methods.  But others included the types of ingredients, the location of the brewing, the reaction of the potion with the cauldron, the absorption of magic from inanimate objects like gemstones, and many others.

****

 “You don’t have to tell me your ideas now,” Wystan said, when it seemed like Callidus wouldn’t answer him.  

****

 “Oh, I don’t mean to be secretive,” Callidus said, realizing that Wystan was speaking to him, and he was being rude by thinking instead of replying.  “But I wanted to see if there was already research done on the topic, so I don’t accidently waste my time ‘rediscovering’ something that I could have just read about in a book.”

****

Wystan hummed.  “That makes sense.  Well, I look forward to seeing whatever you choose to do.  I don’t think I’ve ever met someone quite as passionate about potions as you.  Maybe Snape was, once you saw past his surly exterior.”  Wystan chuckled as he considered the old potions master.  As for Callidus, he just gave the older boy a blank smile.  Wystan had reminded him that he had a cache of knowledge at his disposal so Callidus’s mind was already far away, daydreaming about all the books at his disposal.

****

It was the last week of October.  Callidus, Harry and Malfoy had just finished an especially boring History of Magic class (that neither Harry nor Malfoy were awake for).  And in truth, the only reason that Callidus was awake was because he had been reading a potions book that belonged to his older-self.  His belongings had been easy enough to find. The storage room that they were kept in was could be unlocked with a basic  _ Alohomora _ charm.  But while the storage room was easy to get into, adult-Severus’s possessions had been well protected with charms rebuffed anyone other than himself.  As he looked over the titles and scanned the pages, he found most of the books were still too advanced for him, but that didn’t make them any less useful.

****

After History of Magic, the three boys were done classes for the day. They walked down the corridor towards the library, along the way, descending a staircase and turning a corner. Malfoy was preoccupied with explaining Quidditch maneuvers to Harry and because of this, he failed to pay proper heed to his surroundings.  As they walked, Malfoy’s shoulder slammed against another student.  With heated aggression, the blond to turn and hiss an angry denunciation. 

****

 “Watch where you’re going -” Malfoy’s eyes widened when he saw it was Weasley.  A month of detention with the redhead had only fueled Malfoy’s antipathy towards him.

****

Generally, Weasley and Malfoy were deliberate about avoiding one another.  Being stuck together for so long had left both of them disinclined to spend more time together.  But the proximity, combined with Malfoy’s snappy tone of voice caused the redhead to reply without thinking. 

****

 “I was watching where I was going,” Weasley said defensively.  And in truth, most of the blame did fall on Malfoy.  But instead of leaving it there, Weasley muttered, “-evil git,” under his breath.

****

 “Better that than a penniless blood traitor wearing tattered cast-offs,” Malfoy spat out.  “What are those - third-hand, forth-hand robes?”

****

Malfoy might not have noticed his slilp, but Harry did.  When one was in Slytherin, one quickly learned what terms like ‘blood traitor’ meant.  In the most neutral sense, it referred to witches or wizards who sympathized with muggles and muggleborns.  But obviously, a phrase like ‘blood traitor’ wasn’t neutral - it was an insult and it was also a political declaration about one’s views towards blood purity.  Since Harry had learned that his parents were aligned with the so-called ‘blood traitors,’ this made him sensitive towards insults against muggleborns or muggleborn supporters.

****

In all the time that the trio had spent together, Callidus had only heard Malfoy use the term ‘mudblood’ once.  That had been on the Hogwarts express, and after seeing Harry’s reaction, Malfoy had guarded his tongue.  But this time, Malfoy had failed to monitor his words.  He had been locked in a death glare with Weasley, so he didn’t see the blood leaving Harry’s face.

****

His jaw clenched, and his hands fisted, Harry stomped off, and Callidus followed.  From the corner of his eye, Malfoy saw the sharp movement, which pulled his attention away from Weasley.  The blond was shocked and confused to see Harry marching off without him.  Malfoy flicked an angry, slitted glance at Weasley before dashing after Harry.

****

 “Harry!” Malfoy called out.  “Harry, where are you going?”

****

Harry whipped around to face Malfoy.  His green eyes blazed with anger, causing Malfoy to falter and pause.

****

 “I told you once that if I ever heard you say something like ‘mudblood,’ that I wouldn’t want you around me.  Well that goes for words like ‘blood traitor’ too!”  With that, Harry spun back around, leaving Malfoy sputtering behind him.

****

For the rest of the day, Harry refused to speak to Malfoy.  Malfoy had attempted to explain himself, and tried to justify his actions, but Harry would just narrow his eyes, and then walk off.  By the end of the day, Malfoy appeared to be just as cross as Harry.  Neither boy would so much as look at the other.  

****

Callidus thought he would be happier about it.  For as long as Callidus had known Malfoy, he found the blond irritating.  Furthermore, Malfoy was ridiculously spoiled, and far too arrogant.  He hated the way that Malfoy would claim Harry’s attention.  And although he did not voice it, he was jealous that Harry and Malfoy connected over their shared love of flying.  Having Harry’s friendship to himself should have been like a dream come true.  But for some reason, Callidus wasn’t happy.

****

Part of his dissatisfaction was due to the awareness that Harry was unhappy.  Callidus couldn’t go about mocking Malfoy when it was evident that Harry was miserable.  And another part of it was that the dynamic among the first year Slytherins had become uncomfortable.  It was as though everyone had somehow apparated into the pitch-black cave full of pits and snares.  Making the wrong move could be crippling.

****

The following day was no better.  In the morning, Malfoy had tried to speak to Harry.  But when the green-eyed boy turned away, Malfoy didn’t bother to try again.  Before long, everyone in Slytherin knew about the rift between Harry and Malfoy.  In Slytherin, information was like currency - especially information about other people.  It was important to know what others were doing.  That way, one could always be one step ahead.  As a result, the Slytherins found themselves divided.

****

One one hand, Malfoy was one of the richest and most influential families in Wizarding Britain.  Those who valued pureblood ideas were more inclined to side with the Malfoys.  On the other hand, there was Harry who was a Potter.  The Potter name was also old and rich.  And even if the Potters were not as political as the Malfoys, the name had influence.  Moreover, Harry was the Boy Who Lived which made him a celebrity in his own right.

****

The Slytherins started to take sides.  Between Harry and Malfoy, the Slytherins were almost evenly split and as such, things in the Slytherin dungeons became very tense.  Slytherins were already a mistrustful bunch to begin with but Harry and Malfoy’s division only made it worse.  In spite of the deep divide, none of the other Houses were aware of what was going on within Slytherin.  No matter how contentious their internal dealings might be, the Slytherins stood united against outsiders.

****

Callidus was sure that it was only a matter of time before Malfoy would strike.  He was convinced of Malfoy’s spitefulness and pettiness.  Callidus did not have very much respect for Malfoy, but he still recognized the danger that someone like Malfoy posed.  All it would take would be a few carefully chosen words to have Malfoy’s supporters attacking Harry.  But, as the days passed, nothing seemed to happen.  The tension in the Slytherin House was like an underground river that was flash flooding.  On the surface, all was still, but if one looked beneath, there was a roiling, churning energy full of destructive potential.

****

And yet, Malfoy said not a word.  Harry continued to act as though Malfoy didn’t exist.  His demeanour could best be described as ‘false cheerfulness.’  As for Malfoy, the blond’s mein was was pensive.  Sometimes, Callidus would catch Malfoy looking in Harry’s direction with his brow creased, but then, the blond would quickly avert his gaze, letting his face appear as smooth as a statue.

****

A few days before Hallowe’en, Callidus received another note from Dumbledore.  Like the first note, he received it by owl at breakfast.  Just as before, the headmaster wanted Callidus to come by his office in the evening.  This time, the postscript read:  _ Self-flossing Mints are quite a nice treat, don’t you think? _

****

Since Harry and Malfoy’s falling out, meals in the Great Hall had become an awkward affair.  The Slytherins were unwilling to air out their troubles in front of the whole school, so it was necessary to act as though everything remained the same as ever.  To make it even more uncomfortable, neither Harry nor Malfoy had moved from their seats.  They still sat side by side, but they refused to say a word to each other.  The other Slytherins weren’t so gauche as to stare and none of the first years felt comfortable enough to try and bridge the gap between Harry and Malfoy.  

****

What this meant was that like the older Slytherins, the first years had to pretend that the very obvious problem was no problem at all, and the burden of maintaining conversation had fallen to Parkinson.  After all, she was the self styled Queen of Gossip.

****

 “Have any of you noticed what those two Hufflepuff girls have done to Vincent and Gregory?” Parkinson asked, her voice holding a note of ridicule.

****

Greengrass and Nott snickered, while Zabini’s lip curled up in amusement.

****

 “Do you not like their shiny new look?” Zabini asked with his eyebrow raised and a smirk on his lips.  “Or is it the flowers that they have pinned onto their robes?”  

****

The Slytherins peered over at Crabbe and Goyle.  The boys were sitting across from Hannah Abbott and Susan Bones at the Hufflepuff table.  Sure enough, the two bulky boys were sporting heads of very glossy, smooth hair, and clean scrubbed faces.  But since Crabbe and Goyle faced away from them, they couldn’t see any flowers.

****

 “The Hufflepuffs have unmanned them,” Greengrass sniffed.  “I always heard stories of how humiliating it would be to be a ‘Puff.  I didn’t realize how true those stories were.  I imagine their parents are horrified.  As though the initial sorting wasn’t bad enough.”

****

Callidus put Dumbledore’s note in his pocket and looked up at Crabbe and Goyle.  Though the Slytherins may have mocked the two boys, in truth, they both looked comparatively good.  Yes, they both had somehow acquired lustrous hair, but it wasn’t feminine - at least not enough to fit the descriptor of being ‘unmanned.’  The pair of them simply appeared more put-together and polished.  And if Callidus were objective, he’d have to say that their hair looked better than his greasy, lank locks.  A tiny part of him was curious to know what kind of magic the Hufflepuffs had used on the two boys.  Maybe it was just a girl thing, to know beauty magic.  

****

 “I don’t think it’s all bad,” said Harry after taking a sip of pumpkin juice.  “Being in Hufflepuff has been good for them.  I remember at the beginning of the year, Vincent accidently walked into to me, and he just frowned and walked away.  But the other day, we ended up bumping into each other again, and he apologized, and helped me to pick up all the things that had fallen out of my satchel.  Plus, in Charms the other day, when my quill nib broke, Gregory offered me one of his spares.  And they’re always smiling now.”

****

Parkinson peeked a cautious glance at Malfoy before responding to Harry.  In fact, if any first year were talking to Harry, they usually looked at Malfoy with caution.  And if they were talking to Malfoy, then they’d glance at Harry with guarded expressions.  

****

 “So what you’re saying is that Bones and Abbott have turned Vincent and Crabbe into paragons of Hufflepuff gormlessness,” Parkinson replied, a touch of mockery gleaming in her eyes.

****

 “I’m just saying that they’ve become nice people.  What’s wrong with being nice?” Harry asked.

****

Though Harry seemed oblivious, Malfoy seemed to tense upon hearing Harry’s words.  “Nice people listen when others try to talk to them,” Malfoy said.  His words were spoken with the faintest hint of bitterness but the blond didn’t look at Harry as he spoke.  It was almost like he was speaking to no one.  Or speaking to himself.

****

As quiet as Malfoy’s words were, all the first year Slytherins froze.  Harry had turned to look at Malfoy, but then looked away, pursing his lips.  Harry’s eyebrows were furrowed, and his expression was troubled.

****

 “I’m not hungry anymore,” Harry muttered quietly.  “Cal, wanna head off to Charms early?”

****

Callidus nodded.  “Sure.  We’ll be starting wandwork soon, so I might as well practice before class.”  Callidus was proud of how normal he sounded.  He may have been squarely on Harry’s side, but Callidus was just as affected as the other Slytherins by recent tensions.

****

The pair of them stood up and left the Great Hall.  As they walked away, Callidus could hear Parkinson talking about Crabbe and Goyle once again.  It was a valiant effort to pretend that nothing untoward had just happened.

****

It wasn’t until they were climbing up the stairs that Harry spoke.  “Do you think I’m being mean?”

****

Callidus knew that the question was in reference to Malfoy.  “No,” Callidus replied honestly.  “Not after what he said.”

****

Harry frowned.  “Then why do I feel so bad?”  His voice was low, and for once, he wasn’t wearing his fake-cheerful expression.

****

Callidus was silent as he considered Harry’s words.  What was the right thing to do in this situation?  When he was friends with Lily, Lily used to often have disagreements with Petunia.  During those fights, Lily often came to Callidus/Severus to complain.  In those days, Callidus disliked Petunia as much as he currently disliked Malfoy and back then, he had no problem egging on Lily’s anger towards her muggle sister.

****

But no matter what he said, Callidus had never been able to drive a firm wedge between Lily and Petunia.  The bond of sisterhood had been too strong.  His situation with Harry was similar, and yet different.  Harry’s bond of friendship with Malfoy was tenuous, so if Callidus made an effort to drive a wedge between them, he was sure that he could break their friendship forever.

****

He couldn’t deny that the idea was alluring.  The only thing that held him back was Harry’s obvious misery.  So all Callidus said was, “It hurts to lose a friend.”

****

Harry looked even more troubled.  “Do you think Draco will apologize?  He kept trying to explain himself, but he never tried to actually apologize.”

****

Callidus’s stomach felt like it was a tangle of knots.  His emotions were an uncomfortable and strange mix.  Part of it was sympathy for Harry, but he also felt jealousy because of how much Harry valued Malfoy’s friendship.  

****

Harry sighed heavily  “Maybe I should just tell him.  If I ask him to apologize, and he does, then things’ll go back to how they were, right?”

****  
Callidus didn’t even want to answer that.  And though it was strange, and illogical, some part of him wanted the same thing.  As aggravating as Malfoy had been, he missed how things were before everything imploded.  



	16. Chapter 16

That evening, Callidus left Harry chatting with Davis as he headed up to Dumbledore’s office.  He said, “Self-flossing Mints” and then ascended the spiral staircase up to the headmaster’s office.  Dumbledore was tinkering with one of the delicate silver contraptions when Callidus entered.  His white head turned when Callidus strode up to the table, and the embroidered fairies in his hat fluttered.

 

 “Good evening, Callidus,” Dumbledore said with a welcoming smile.  “How are things, my boy?”

 

 “Hello Professor,” Callidus replied.  “Things are - unpleasant.”  

 

 “Oh?  Harry and Draco?”

 

 “It’s that obvious, is it?” Callidus said sardonically.

 

The headmaster’s answering smile was sympathetic.  He tilted his head by a fraction, as though inviting Callidus to continue.  But the matter was too close to his heart and too muddled.  Callidus had no interest in speaking of it at all. 

 

As if sensing his mood, the headmaster embarked on a stream of light-hearted conversation.  Callidus let the words flow through him, but his mind was elsewhere.  But then it occurred to him that there was one thing he wished to ask the headmaster.

 

 “Professor -” Callidus said, before realizing he had just cut the headmaster off mid-sentence.  Dumbledore blinked owlishly, but then he smiled.  

 

 “Er - I was looking through some of my books.  Well, Severus’s books.  And I noticed that there were numerous bookmarks scattered throughout many of the books.  When I touched the bookmarks, my head buzzed.  Would you happen to know anything about that?”

 

 “Ah, yes - annotation marks,” said the Headmaster with a knowledgeable nod.  “The revealing charm will show you the annotations.  Annotation marks are often used to mark scholarly publications, journals or periodicals.  The revealing charm will show you why the reader has made the annotation.  Quite useful, I must say.”

 

 “Revealing charm?” Callidus asked.

 

 “I believe it can be found in chapter two of your  _ Book of Spells, _ ” Dumbledore replied with a twinkling smile.

 

After a few more minutes of desultory conversation, Callidus left the headmaster’s office.  He was determined to learn the revealing charm.  Whatever adult-Severus had annotated was sure to be interesting.  He wanted to find out just what it was that had captured his past-self’s attention.

 

Hallowe’en had arrived, and with it, the scent of baking pumpkins could be smelled through the corridors.  Ever since Harry and Malfoy stopped speaking, Harry no longer brought up Samhain.  Harry didn’t speak of Hallowe’en either, but as soon as the smell of pumpkins assailed their senses, Harry became interested in the festivities.

 

 “Sometimes, I wonder if this is all a dream,” Harry said as they walked to class.  “I keep thinking I’ll wake up back in my cupboard.  The smell of pumpkins reminds me of things I wasn’t allowed to have.”

 

Callidus nodded with understanding.  “I know what you mean.  Sometimes I think I’ll wake up back on my lumpy mattress at Spinner’s End, to the sound of my parents fighting.”

 

 “Didn’t you say your parents were - well -” Harry cut himself off before saying ‘dead.’  It seemed rather insensitive.  But Callidus had never revealed the truth of his situation to Harry.  The headmaster had stressed that it was important to keep it a secret.  Furthermore, Callidus was slipping more and more into his identity as ‘Callidus’ rather than ‘Severus.’  All the trappings of his old life were gone, anyhow.

 

 “Uh - yeah, but it’s still fresh in my memory,” Callidus replied quickly.

 

In Charms, they were pleased to find out that they were going to learn the levitation charm.  Like Granger, Callidus had tried numerous first year charms on his own, so he knew he was able to do them.  He had even found the revealing spell (which was in chapter two, just as Dumbledore said) and after three attempts, he did managed to get it to work.  But whether he knew the charms or not, he was still glad that Professor Flitwick would be starting them on wand work.  

 

Malfoy, whose father pressured him to perform well academically, was also able to perform many first year charms with ease, but Harry was a different story.  Though the messy-haired boy had a great deal of magical potential, he still lacked the basic ability to control and channel his magic.

 

The Slytherins were with the Hufflepuffs in Charms, and Professor Flitwick had partnered the students up.  Callidus was paired with Millicent Bulstrode, while Harry was with the solemn Tracey Davis.  In front of all the students were fluffy white feathers.

 

 “This is harder than I thought,” Harry muttered, as he swished and flicked his wand.

 

 “ _ Wingardium Leviosa _ ,” Harry intoned.  He frowned when the feather didn’t even twitch.  “ _ Wingardium Leviosa. _ ”

 

Davis was having just as difficult a time as Harry, so she couldn’t help him.  Bulstrode also failed to get her feather to move. 

 

Callidus turned towards Harry.  “Try to make the ‘gar’ sound longer when you say  _ Wingardium Leviosa, _ ” Callidus suggested.

 

His advice seemed to help because Harry, Davis and even Bulstrode got their feathers to lift a centimeter off the table.  It wasn’t much, but it was enough that Harry and Bulstrode were beaming, while Davis wore a small smile.  Callidus noticed Malfoy looking in their direction, but the boy quickly pulled his gaze away, returning his attention to the feather.  The blond’s execution of the levitation charm was perfect, and his feather hovered a foot up in the air. 

 

 “Wonderful!  Just wonderful!” Flitwick declared with bright enthusiasm.  “Five points to Slytherin!”

 

Harry’s expression was wistful as he watched Malfoy casting the spell.  Callidus frowned. 

 

 “Harry,” he said, drawing the boy’s attention back to him.  “Try it again, but focus your intent.  It can help to imagine the object levitating.  But you have to will it to levitate.  The more you want it to work, the more power you’ll be able to channel through your wand.”

 

Harry looked surprised for a brief moment, but then he nodded in determination.  “ _ Wingardium Leviosa _ ,” he intoned again, this time with a look of intense concentration.  To everyone’s surprise, his feather floated up and up and up.

 

 “Oh, well done!  Splendid effort!” Flitwick exclaimed, clapping.  He was just as pleased with Harry’s results as he had been with Malfoy’s.  In fact, Flitwick was happy about every success, no matter how large or small.  

 

When Harry lowered his feather back down, there was a wide grin on his face.  “That was brilliant!” Harry blurted out, once his feather resting in front of him.

 

 “That was amazing, Harry!” Davis said, giving Harry one of her genuine smiles.  Callidus still hadn’t seen Davis give that smile to anyone else but Harry.  But since the girl usually stayed out of the way, he didn’t give her too much thought.

 

After all their classes were over, Callidus headed down to the library.  He had invited Harry along.  Usually, Harry came with him, but this time, Davis had claimed his attention.  It sounded like something related to flying, so Callidus had tuned it out, but of course, when it came to flying, Harry was enthralled.  Over the two months at Hogwarts, Callidus (and to some extent Malfoy) had been able to increase Harry’s interest in reading, but between books and flying, Harry would always choose flying.

 

Callidus had brought two of adult-Severus’s books with him, but the reason he needed to go to the library was because the books were quite technical.  Having other Potion books for reference enabled him to interpret what he was reading.  Upon entering the library, the first thing he noticed was Granger.  As ever, she was sitting alone at one of the library tables.  There was an open book that she held up in front of her.  But even though she was looking towards the book, it was clear that she wasn’t actually reading it.  Her lower lip kept trembling and she was pursing her lips, as though attempting to hold back a flood of emotions.

 

Granger did not even seem to notice Callidus’s entrance.  He veered towards the potions section of the library, and found a couple books that looked promising.  Making his way back towards the library tables, he sat down at a vacant spot.  Trying to interpret adult-Severus’s annotations was slow-going but fascinating.  His attention should have been absorbed by what he was reading.  Instead, he found his gaze returning to Granger. 

 

Granger’s position hadn’t changed.  She still didn’t seem to have noticed him.  And her expression was so deeply distressed that he felt an unsettling ache of compassion for her.  What could have happened to cause her to be so upset?  He figured it was none of his business.  What did it matter if some Gryffindor was upset or not?  It was probably something stupid, like seeing one of the owls eating a baby bunny.  That sounded like the sort of thing that would get a Gryffindor stirred up.

 

Despite all his attempts to force his attention away from her, he was unable to do it.  With a sense of exasperation, he tossed his books back into his book bag, and stomped over to Granger.  He dropped into the empty chair beside her.  Finally, she looked away from her book.  Upon seeing him next to her, her eyes bugged out in shock.  Her mouth was an ‘o’ of surprise.

 

Callidus smirked.  “Interesting how my presence is enough for you to lose all your wits, Granger.  I’m going to have to keep that in mind, come exam time.”

 

Granger gasped.  “You wouldn’t dare!”

 

 “Oh, but I would.  It’d be foolish of me not to exploit such an advantage.”

 

Granger looked horrified, but her expression changed from dismay to scrutiny, to a sudden understanding.  She pursed her lips, and knit her brow, looking irritated.

 

 “You sat down next to me just to make fun of me?” she snapped.

 

Callidus rolled his eyes.  “Yes Granger.  I pulled myself away from my extremely fascinating book, all for sake of tossing one or two barbed words your way because I have nothing better to do.”

 

Granger furrowed her brow.  “You’re being sarcastic.”

 

 “Ten points to Gryffindor for pointing out the obvious,” Callidus replied lazily.

 

Granger scowled.  “Just go away if you’re going to taunt me.  I get enough of that from the Gryffindors.  Or do the Slytherins consider being cruel an essential trait?”

 

 “The Gryffindors taunt you?” Callidus asked.

 

 “Well, I’m apparently a nightmare that no one can stand.  What else would you describe that as?” Granger spat out.

 

Callidus hummed.  “Gryffindor idiocy?”

 

Granger opened her mouth before closing it again.  Then she spoke.  “More insults?”

 

Callidus sighed and rolled his eyes.  “I didn’t mean you.  I meant the  _ other _ Gryffindors.  You may be a lot of things, but you’re no idiot, Granger.”

 

Granger looked confused by his words. 

 

 “You may take that as a compliment,” Callidus said, with a touch of irony lacing his tone of voice.

 

Granger frowned.  “If that’s your idea of a compliment, I think I can see why Slytherin is such a nasty place to be.”

 

This startled a laugh out of Callidus.  “Slytherins don’t give compliments.  They give flattery, and only if they think it’ll get them what they want.”

 

Granger’s face scrunched up.  “That’s awful.”

 

 “It’s tactical.”

 

Granger hummed.  She looked towards her book before looking back at Callidus.  “Why are you really here anyway?”

 

The blunt question surprised Callidus.  In truth, he had no idea how to answer the question.  Why did he come here?  What business was it of his, if Granger was upset or not. 

 

Callidus shrugged.  “I just wanted to - uh - borrow your book,” he lied.

 

Granger frowned.  “You wanted to borrow  _ A Beginner’s Guide to Transfiguration _ ?  Don’t you have the exact same course book?”

 

 “Er - someone’s borrowing mine,” Callidus replied awkwardly.  

 

Granger’s expression was sceptical.  “Well I can’t let you borrow mine.  It’s the only one I have!”

 

 “Oh.  Right then.  Well - I better be off,” Callidus said lamely.  He stood up to leave.  Granger just looked at him as if he had misplaced his wits on the way to her table.  Maybe he had.

 

 “Okay.  Well - see you in Potions tomorrow, I suppose,” Granger said.

 

Callidus nodded.  He was about to step away when he paused.  “Oh. Granger?  Don’t listen to those imbecilic Gryffindors.  After being stuck in detention with you for a month, I can confirm that you’re - uh - decent company.  If the Gryffindors can’t stand you, it’s only because their microscopic brains can’t process your cleverness.”

 

Callidus trotted off before he could see Granger’s reaction.  He was embarrassed by what he had confessed and had no desire to see her reaction.

 

That evening, Callidus and Harry made their way to the Great Hall for the Hallowe’en feast.  Neither boy was certain of what to expect.  Callidus grew up in an impoverished neighbourhood where no one bothered to do anything for Hallowe’en.  Harry had always been excluded from Hallowe’en activities.  As they entered the Great Hall, they were met by the sight of bats everywhere.  It was remarkable, but something about it also sent a chill down one’s spine.  Perhaps because it almost felt like they would swoop down upon the students and get tangled in their hair.

 

Hagrid’s pumpkins were scattered throughout the Hall, lit with flickering candles.  The spooky faces carved into the pumpkins made funny expressions.  Some of them laughed maniacally, and others glowered.  A few of the winked, and one of them seemed to leer at anyone that walked by.  Callidus noticed that Granger was at the Gryffindor table, and he was glad to see that her head was held high.  He and Harry walked towards the Slytherin table and sat at their usual spots.  All the other first years were already there - all except Malfoy.

 

Callidus wondered if the blond had decided to go through with the Samhain festival all by himself.  He glanced over at Harry, and noticed that the other boy looked troubled.  But the feast had only just started.  Maybe Malfoy was just late.

 

 “Interesting decorations,” Parkinson was saying from across the table.  “It’s rather - hm - muggled-influenced, don’t you think?”

 

 “What else were you expecting from a muggle-loving headmaster?” Zabini asked through half-lidded eyes.  He sounded disdainful and bored.

 

 “What’s Quivering-Quirrell doing?” Bulstrode asked.  “He looks more scared than he does in class.”  Quivering-Quirrell (or Quiver) was the Slytherin epithet for the timid Defence professor.  All the Slytherins turned to watch Quirrell as the man half-stumbled and half-ran towards the Head Table.  Indeed, Quirrell did look more fearful than usual.  His expression was bug-eyed, and his turban was crooked.

 

When he reached Dumbledore’s chair, he fell across the table, as though all his energy had been expended.  He gasped out (loud enough that everyone could hear): "Troll - in the dungeons - thought you ought to know." 

 

Then, to the Slytherin’s disgust, the milk-livered man fainted.  After this, everyone in the Hall burst into startled chatter all at once.

 

 “Troll?!” Parkinson was shrieking.  “I thought Hogwarts was supposed to be safe!”

 

 “Quiver said it was in the dungeons - what if it got into our common room?” Greengrass wailed fearfully.

 

There was a loud crackling sound and a purple light burst forth from the Headmaster’s wand.  This stopped the students’ babbling mid-sentence.

 

 "Prefects," Dumbledore rumbled, "lead your Houses back to the dormitories immediately!"

 

The first years looked towards the prefect Gemma Farley.  Her mouth was hanging open.  “Quirrell just said the troll was in the dungeon.  Is the old man daft?!”

 

This did nothing to reassure the first years at all.

 

 “Stay close to me, snakelets!” Farley called out. “We Slytherins have to look out for each other!  Don’t go running off!  Let the other students go first.  One of the other prefects’ll talk to Slughorn about whether it’s safe to go down to the dungeons.  We’re known for our sense of self-preservation for a reason, so don’t do anything stupid!”

 

Callidus looked towards Harry, whose face had drained of blood.  “Draco,” Harry exhaled in little more than a whisper, the fear evident in his voice.  “He doesn’t know.”

 

Without a second thought, Harry had slipped away, blending with a crowd of Ravenclaws.  There was no way that Callidus would leave Harry behind, but what in Merlin’s name was Harry thinking?  Why did he have to dash off without even telling a prefect? 

 

Callidus would have alerted Farley, but Harry was moving too quickly.  If Callidus tried to tell the prefect, he would lose sight of Harry.  So, against his better judgement, he dashed off after his friend.  Where did that impulsive boy go?  It was almost impossible to see anything beyond the swishing robes, but Callidus managed to catch sight of Harry’s black hair, and rushed towards him.  He grabbed Harry’s arm, and the green-eyed boy whirled around in surprise.

 

 “Come on!” Harry said urgently, yanking his arm away, and following the Ravenclaws up a set of stairs.  He turned away into a side-corridor.

 

 “Where are you going?” Callidus hissed.  “I thought Malfoy was practicing Samhain outside?”

 

 “No,” Harry replied, shaking his head.  “He wanted to at first, but in the end, he said you were right.  He just didn’t want to tell you to your face.  He’s using an empty classroom here on the second floor.  I just - hope he’s still there.  What if he changed his mind in the last week?  We haven’t been speaking - oh Merlin!”  Harry’s face was anguished.  

 

As much as Callidus disliked Malfoy, he didn’t dislike him enough to want the blond hurt by a mountain troll.

 

 “We really should tell a teacher or prefect,” Callidus said.

 

Harry shook his head.  “The troll is supposed to be in the dungeon.  It’ll be quicker this way.  Now come on!”

 

Callidus followed Harry as he trotted past the the staircase leading to the third floor.  

 

 “Do you hear someone coming?” Callidus whispered loudly, pulling Harry behind a large stone Griffin.  But the sound of footfalls seemed to turn in a different direction.  As the sound of steps faded, the pair of them continued forward.  Harry soon reached the classroom, and he jiggled at the handle, but the door was locked.

 

 “Merlin’s pants!” Harry exclaimed.  He pulled at the door handle more aggressively, to no effect.

 

 “Harry!” Callidus said in a sharp staccato.  Harry looked up at him, panicked.  “Let me.” 

 

Harry nodded, and backed away.  It made Callidus’s skin itch, the way Harry wouldn’t stop his restless fidgeting, but Callidus forced his mind to calm down.

 

 “ _ Alohomora! _ ” Callidus called out, swerving his wand in an ‘S’ shape.  They heard a click as the door unlocked, and Harry pulled it open with such force that it banged.

 

 “Draco!” Harry called out, and the blond boy turned his head back towards them.  Malfoy’s expression was perplexed, and there was a sheen of sweat on his forehead.  In front of him was a ruby-red flame that appeared to burn without any logs for fuel.  Instead of his black school robes, Malfoy’s robes were a pure white.  With Malfoy’s blond hair and pale skin, he looked like a ghost.

 

 “Harry?” Malfoy said with a mix of confusion and hope.  “What are you doing here?”

 

 “There’s a troll loose in the castle!  We have to get out of here!” Harry called out, as he rushed towards the blond, grabbing him by the arm.

 

 “Troll?”  Malfoy’s eyebrows were creased.  “What are you talking about Harry?  A troll couldn’t get into Hogwarts!  It’s one of the safest places in Great Britain.”

 

 “Quiver said so!”  Harry exclaimed insistantly.  “Dumbledore even had the prefects take everyone back to the common rooms.  We have to go!”

 

 “It’s supposed to be in the dungeons,” Callidus added.  “We need to find one of the prefects or teachers before they notice we’re gone.”

 

Malfoy paled, but then he nodded.  If Dumbledore was taking the threat of a troll seriously, then it was a real danger.  With a wave of his wand, Malfoy’s crimson flame flickered out, and some colour returned to his cheeks, but nonetheless, Malfoy looked drained.  The three boys checked the corridor before leaving the classroom.  

 

As they rushed back in the direction of the Great Hall, a horrible smell assailed Callidus’s nose.  He scrunched up his face.

 

 “Merlin!  What’s that smell?  It’s like old socks and uncleaned chamber pots!” Callidus said, feeling close to gagging.  Harry and Malfoy looked puzzled, but a moment later, they too wrinkled their noses in disgust.  Ahead of them, they heard the sound of grunting, and the low and heavy drag-thump of footsteps.  The three boys shared a look of heart-skipping dread.  Whatever it was sounded huge, and it was coming their way.

 

The trio pressed themselves into the shadow of one of the arched alcoves in the wall.  Their eyes bulged as the horrible beast came into sight.  It was twelve feet tall, with skin the colour of dusty slate.  Its body was so lumpy that it looked like it had rocks underneath its skin.  Yet its head was disproportionately small.  Its legs were stumpy, and its odor was nauseating.  

 

Callidus wondered if he looked as green as Harry and Malfoy appeared.  He was glad that he didn’t get the chance to even eat at the feast.  If he had, he’d be expelling the contents of his stomach.  The hideous troll stood on the spot, and turned it’s tiny head in their direction.  Oh Merlin!  Malfoy’s robes!  They were stark white!

 

 “It sees us!” Callidus hissed.  “Run!!”  Nothing more needed to be said.  The trio sprinted off with frantic urgency.  Behind them, the troll grunted with puzzlement.  But then it gave chase, its heavy footfalls like booming thunder.  The troll may have looked clumsy, and it may have had the wits of an  _ obliviated _ sheep, but the beast was fast.  Callidus knew it was only a matter of time before they were caught.  They needed to slow the troll down.  Or find someone who could help them.  

 

He scanned the hall with desperation, hoping for something,  _ anything _ , that could help.  From the corner of his eye, he could see Malfoy flagging.  The blond had already seemed exhausted after the Samhain ritual.  Callidus hoped he would be able to keep up.  Unfortunately, his hopes were in vain.

 

 “Draco!” Harry exclaimed with alarm when the blond tripped over his own feet and collapsed.  As Harry reached out to pull him up, Callidus noticed the large tapestry on the wall.  

 

 “ _ Diffindo! _ ”  He yelled, waving his wand.  It was a second year severing charm.  When he had tried it on his own, he had barely managed to cut through parchment.  But his need was great, and so was intent.  He sheared the tapestry off the wall, and it crumpled into a pile of fabric.

 

 “ _ Wingardium Leviosa! _ ”  He called out, and the tapestry lifted a couple of feet off the ground.  Curse it, curse it, curse it!  He had used so much magical energy for the first spell that he couldn’t put enough power into this second spell.  But Harry seemed to realize what Callidus was trying to do.

 

 “ _ Wingardium Leviosa! _ ” Harry cried out, and tapestry floated upwards, flying straight towards the troll.  To their infinite relief, the beast was too stupid to avoid it.  The tapestry draped over its head, covering the troll down to its chest.  The brutish creature roared with frustration, confused by the heavy fabric that obscured its vision.

 

 “Come on!” Harry said frantically, pulling Malfoy to his feet.  The boys used the troll’s distraction, and ran off, turning a corner and then flying down the stairs.  They turned another corner that would take them towards the Great Hall when they came across the diminutive Professor Flitwick.

 

 “Boys!”  Flitwick exclaimed.  At the same time, the boys were babbling with breathless fear mingled with relief.   “Professor! The troll!  It was behind us!”

 

 “The troll!  Oh dear, oh dear!” He exclaimed.  But the Professor did not sound afraid - just alarmed.  “Stay near me boys.  I’ll take you to -”

 

Flitwick was cut off by a furious roar.  All four set of eyes turned towards the great bellowing sound.  Flitwick pushed past the boys, towards the thunderous noise.  He drew his wand out with lightening speed, pointing it forwards and he held his other arm out perpendicular, as though marking an invisible line for the boys to stay behind.  Malfoy’s eyes grew wide as he recognized that aside from the perpendicular arm, Flitwick was in the dueler’s stance. 

 

 “ _ Stupefy, Petrificus Totalus, Stupefy! _ ” Flitwick shouted, without a single waver in his voice, just as the troll turned the bend and came into sight.  Two bright scarlet beams shot forth from his wand but the combination of the stunning spell and the full-body bind had already rendered the troll immobile, and the third stunner was unnecessary.  The hideous troll dropped down to the ground with an enormous whump.  They could feel the vibration of it through their feet.

 

The trio of boys were slack-jawed with amazement.  Flitwick didn’t even break a sweat.  He turned around, and looked up at the boys.  

 

 “Are you three alright?”  Flitwick asked with concern.

 

 “You took down a troll with stunners!” Callidus exclaimed.  “Trolls are resistant to stunners!”

 

The corner of Flitwick’s mouth twitched upwards.  “Well, I’m not a Master Duellist for nothing.  It’s all in where you aim, and the power behind your spells.  Most magic-resistant creatures have weak points.”

 

The three boys looked at Flitwick with newfound respect.  They knew he was a highly accomplished Charms Master, but none of them realized he was also a Master Duellist.  Before any of them could say a word, Professor McGonagall and Professor Slughorn burst upon the scene.  They were trailed by the trembling Quirrell.

 

 “Goodness!” Slughorn exclaimed.  “What a stench!”  He was covering his nose with a handkerchief that he pulled out of his robe pockets.  As for Professor McGonagall, she radiated with fury.  Her lips were white, and her eyes promised terrible punishment.

 

 “Why aren’t you boys with the others?” McGonagall asked with a cold fury that masked her worry.  “You should be in your dormitories!  You could have been killed!”

 

Meanwhile, Slughorn was saying, “What happened, Filius?  Looks like you took care of the problem, old boy!”  Quirrell just whimpered, resting heavily on the wall as though it was too much of an effort to hold his own weight.  Flitwick shot the boys a look of sympathy before answering Slughorn. 

 

The trio of boys were all staring down at the floor.  They would probably lose Slytherin a hundred points for their actions.  All of them were sick with dread, under the icy fury of McGonagall’s gaze.

 

 “Well?” McGonagall asked, impatiently.  

 

 “Erm -” Harry started, looking up guiltily.  “We were - uh -”

 

 “We were about to get a professor,” Callidus said. “But it was so chaotic -”

 

 “- Yeah, and uh -”  Harry said.

 

 “- we weren’t trying to look for the troll -” Callidus continued.

 

 “And no one would listen to Slytherins anyway - especially not Slytherin firsties,” Malfoy added.  This must have been the right thing to say, because a flicker of uncertainty appeared in McGonagall’s eyes.

 

 “And we must have taken a wrong turn,” Harry threw in.

 

 “Everyone’s uniform looks the same - we couldn’t tell where we supposed to go -” Callidus added.

 

 “Because everyone thought the troll was in the dungeon,” Harry said.

 

 “Which it wasn’t,” Callidus finished.  The three boys shared a fearful look and then their gazes returned to the floor.

 

They could hear McGonagall huff with annoyance.

 

 “You said you were about to get a professor - for what reason?” McGonagall asked, trying to make sense of their story.

 

 “Uh -” Harry began.

 

At that moment, Flitwick and Slughorn had joined them.  Aside from looking a bit squeamish due to the smell, Slughorn seemed like his normal jovial self. 

 

 “Sounds like you boys have had quite the night!” Slughorn said.  “You aren’t being too hard on them, are you Minerva?”

 

McGonagall glared at Slughorn with irritation.  “Too hard?  Horace!  It was a mountain troll!  They could have suffered serious injuries or be killed!”

 

 “Ah, but they didn’t did they?” replied Slughorn cheerfully.  “All’s well that ends well!  Come along boys!  Back to the dungeons with you.”  Slughorn had his hands at their backs, and was herding them away.

 

McGonagall’s lips were a thin line and her eyes were narrowed.  “I’m going to have to take five points for each of them from Slytherin,” she said.  “And Albus will be informed of this.”  Slughorn looked as though he were about to protest the loss of points.  But when he saw McGonagall’s expression, he snapped his mouths shut and nodded.

 

 “Come along then,” Slughorn said to the trio, who followed him with quiet obedience.  Once the other professors were out of earshot, Malfoy spoke.

 

 “It was my fault, sir,” the blond said softly.  Callidus and Harry looked at him with shock.  Did Malfoy just take the blame?  Callidus didn’t think that the pale boy was capable of such a thing.

 

 “I was lighting the Samhain fire, and they came looking for me,” Malfoy continued.

 

 “He wasn’t looking for trouble though!” Harry added defensively.  “But keeping old traditions alive is important!”

 

Slughorn’s expression was sympathetic.  “Ah - I guessed as much when I saw the white robes,” he said.  “I practice the old ways myself, and I can’t fault you for wanting to follow them.  Don’t worry m’boy.”

 

Malfoy looked up at Slughorn, before looking back down and nodding.  “Thank you, sir.”

 

 “Did you really light your own Samhain fire?” Slughorn queried.

 

Malfoy nodded.  “Yes sir.  It was my first time.”

 

Slughorn’s eyes widened.  “Impressive!  I’d say that something like that deserves five points to Slytherin, don’t you think?  I’m sure you boys will quickly make up the rest.”  Slughorn winked.

 

Their Head of House dropped them off at the Slytherin common room before departing for the night.  Without Slughorn’s presence, a feeling of awkwardness settled upon them.

 

 “Are you okay, Draco?”  Harry asked, his eyes filled with genuine concern.

 

 “I - I’m sorry Harry!” Malfoy blurted out.  “This past week - I kept thinking about things that you’ve said.  Like that time you mentioned wanting to be your own person.  Or all those things you’ve said about being friends.”  Malfoy pursed his lips, looking like a picture of regret and misery.

 

 “I shouldn’t have said the things that I said.  I think I need to try and learn to be myself.  I’ve been a really bad friend.  So I guess I’ll just leave you alone.”  Malfoy’s shoulders slumped with dejection, and his grey eyes fell to the ground.

 

 “What are you talking about Draco?” Harry asked.  “All I wanted was for you to apologize for what you said.  I want us to be friends!”

 

 “Come again?” Malfoy looked up at Harry’s earnest face, startled.  “You - did you say you still want to be friends?”

 

 “Of course!”  Harry exclaimed.  “I mean, Tracey’s an alright flyer, but it’s not the same as flying with you.”

 

Malfoy seemed to scan Harry’s face for a moment.  Then the corner of Malfoy’s lip tugged upwards, and his grey eyes gleamed with an amused smugness.  “I am an amazing flyer, aren’t I?”

 

Harry grinned widely.  “Almost good enough to keep up with me!”

 

And with that, it was as though their disagreement had never happened.  With a sigh, Callidus shook his head.  Well, at least now, he could go back to hating Malfoy without feeling guilty about it.


	17. Chapter 17

Over the next few days, Callidus worked through the annotations made by the adult-Severus whenever he had free time.  There were a great deal of annotations, so he focused on the Potions-related material first.  Adult-Severus also had several books that that referenced the Dark Arts, and while the Dark Arts were fascinating, he couldn’t study the topic in the open which mean that those books would have to wait for another day.

 

Most of adult-Severus’s annotations were related to experimental potions that he was brewing, but Callidus managed to come across one very interesting note.  Better yet, it was relevant to his own situation.  The annotation at hand was related to a paragraph about Potions Masters.  

 

_ In general, there are two types of Potions Masters, _ the book read.   _ There are those who become Potions Masters because of their extensive and detailed knowledge about all the aspects of potion making.  Then there are those who become Potions Masters because of their sensitivity towards Magic. _

 

_ In the past it has been a matter of great debate whether magical sensitivity is an innate talent, or whether it can be learned.  But most scholars in the magical community believe that such an ability can be trained.  Increasing magical sensitivity takes immense discipline.  For many adult wizards, hundreds of hours of practice might only result in a fractional increase in magical sensitivity. _

 

But more interesting was the paragraph below.

 

_ However, it is believed to be easier to develop magical sensitivity when one is young.  A child at the age of ten could improve their magical sensitivity magnitudes faster than an adult wizard.  One wonders then, why all children aren’t trained to improve their magical sensitivity.  The answer to that is because the process takes time and discipline.  While it may be easier for a child to increase their magical sensitivity, most children are disinclined to put forward the effort. _

 

The book continued to mention several methods that could enable one to train and sharpen their magical sensitivity.  As for adult-Severus’s annotation, it mentioned several other techniques that the book left out. 

 

The concept of training his magical sensitivity had ensnared Callidus’s interest and he felt a bubbling enthusiasm growing within him towards the idea.  He assumed that his adult-self had annotated this paragraph because he was the first type of Potions Master.  The type who had ‘extensive and detailed knowledge.’  But now that he was young, he could learn to be the other type of Potions Master.  In fact, he could work towards being both.

 

Callidus’s eyes flew across the pages.  He learned that Potions Masters who were magically sensitive had an advantage when it came to experimental potion making.  When it came to adding unknown magical factors to a brew, those with magical sensitivity could intuitively sense what to do.  And the training itself wasn’t even difficult, but it was time-consuming and effortful.  Still, Callidus was certain that the effort would be worth it and he planned to start right away.

 

At his next meeting with Wystan in the Potions lab, Callidus could not stop talking about the idea.  While Wystan appreciated Callidus’s excitement, he started to grow weary when Callidus would not cease prattling about it.

 

 “Hm - yes, the idea of being more magically sensitive is interesting,” Wystan said, cutting in before Callidus could keep blabbing.  “And I think I might try it myself.  But I really don’t need to hear about how you’re trying to select the best potions ingredients with your eyes closed, and then opening your eyes to check if your guesses have been correct.  At least not in such extensive detail.”

 

Callidus coloured in embarrassment.  “Sorry - I guess it probably is rather boring to hear me describing how I’m trying to pick the best quality Billywig Stings, based on feel alone.  But the potential is really amazing!  When I first tried it, I couldn’t tell the difference between one Billywig Sting and the next.  But now, I sometimes notice that more potent Billywig Stings give off a subtle energy.  I can feel it reacting against my own magic.  But it still takes a lot of effort.  I feel really dizzy afterwards.  And a lot of the time, I still can’t feel anything.”

 

 “You’re starting to blather again,” Wystan said with a wince.  “But yes Callidus, it’s impressive that you can start to sense the potency of one Billywig Sting from another, or one sprig of Wolfsbane from the next, or whether a drop of Lethe River water has been diluted or not, and all with your eyes closed.”

 

Callidus’s flush deepened.

 

 “Ah, sorry - I’m not trying to embarrass you,” Wystan said, flashing his white teeth in a grin.  “But it’d be nice to discuss something else.  I assume you’ve mentioned this to Harry and Draco?  I can’t imagine Harry having much more patience for this than me.”

 

Callidus let out a small self-deprecating laugh.  “Er - yeah, actually, you’re right.  Harry’s eyes glazed over once I started describing the process in detail. Wait - how would you know how Harry would react?”

 

Wystan smiled impishly.  “Do you really think that I would have passed up a chance to speak to the Boy Who Lived?  I thought you knew me better than that.  As interesting as you are, you’re not the only first year who has caught my attention, you know.”  Wystan’s eyes sparkled with humour.

 

 “So - it’s about making connections?”

 

Wystan rolled his eyes.  “Friends, Callidus.  I call them friends.”

 

 “Right -” Callidus’s tone was sceptical.  “Why do I get the feeling that all it would take for you to consider someone a friend is for you to share a friendly hello with someone?  How do you keep track of people’s names, anyhow?”

 

Wystan chuckled.  “Would you believe me if I said magic?”

 

Callidus’s expression was incredulous, and his reply was flat.  “Magic.”

 

Wystan shrugged.  “Yep.  Actually, it’s a talent I’ve always had - not remembering names.  I don’t think there’s a term for my ability, since it isn’t very well defined.  But I’ve always been able to  _ know _ things about people.  Not everything, of course.  But I get broad impressions of a person as soon as I meet them, and it usually turns out to be correct.  It doesn’t work well if the other person is too magically powerful.  Dumbledore, for instance - my ability can’t see past his whole grandfather-act.  And I can’t sense people’s intentions, or anything like that.  So if someone likes me, or if someone wants to harm me, I can’t sense it.  My father has the same ability.  It’s helpful for his career in the Ministry - international relations - diplomacy, that sort of thing.  Anyway, it’s usually easy to attach people’s names to the impressions I get.”

 

 “Huh.  That’s really - erm - interesting.  So - er -”

 

 “What was my impression of you?”  Wystan asked, with amusement.  “There’s more to you than meets the eye.  Actually, you remind me a lot of Snape, but more hopeful.  I always did like Snape, so maybe that’s why I like you so much.”

 

Callidus had no idea how to respond to that.  “Um - what about Harry?  Or Malfoy?”

 

 “Hm - Harry’s interesting.  The only thing that seems to make him a Slytherin is his desire to prove himself.  I’m surprised the Hat didn’t put him in Gryffindor,” Wystan mused.  “As for Draco -”  Wystan smirked.  “He’s someone who likes getting what he wants, and he holds himself in high regard.  But he isn’t very self aware.  Though I think he’s learning.”

 

Callidus hummed.  Wystan’s assessment sounded accurate.  Though he felt a twinge of guilt for pressuring Harry towards Slytherin.  But a Gryffindor?  Better Slytherin than Gryffindor.  He hated to think of how Harry would have turned out if he was stuck with the lions.

 

 “So how is your other project going?  The one you still won’t tell me about?”  Wystan asked.

 

 “Oh - that?”  Callidus still wanted to go forward with his experiment, comparing living to dead ingredients.  But he was still in the research stage.  In the meantime, he had tried brewing a couple fourth year potions, which Wystan had described as ‘Fantastic!  Just about perfect!’

 

Wystan raised an eyebrow.

 

 “So far I haven’t been able to find any information about it.  Maybe no one has attempted it before, I’m not sure,” Callidus murmured.  

 

 “Wonderfully detailed explanation,” Wystan said, rolling his eyes with a smile.  “Anyhow, are you planning to brew anything today, or did you just desire the pleasure of my company?”

 

 “Oh, actually, I just wanted to discuss some of the things from the last paper I wrote,” Callidus replied.  “But then I got distracted when I discovered magical sensitivity training.”

 

They spent the rest of the meeting discussing potions theory.  But Wystan kept giving him knowing looks, as though he was aware that Callidus’s mind was elsewhere.  

 

 “So,” Wystan said, after the older boy had finished explaining the theory that had been confusing Callidus.  “About this magical sensitivity.  Does it apply to all things?”

 

 “What do you mean?”

 

 “I mean, could you use it to identify creatures or even people?  Or spells that are being used?” Wystan asked.

 

Callidus’s eyes bulged as he considered the idea.  “I hadn’t even considered!  I was so caught up in thinking about potions, that I didn’t consider other applications.”

 

Wystan shook his head and smiled.  “There’s more to life than potions, you know.  Anyhow, I gotta get going.  I’ve got a study group to get to.  See you later, Callidus.”

 

The first Quidditch match of the season was in mid November.  The match was between the Slytherins and the Gryffindors.  With the rivalry between the two houses, this was not a game to be missed.  The trio of first year Slytherins were seated at the Slytherin viewing stands, waiting for the game to begin.  Like always, Harry sat between Callidus and Malfoy.

 

 “It’s just ridiculous,” Malfoy was complaining (as usual).  “They really should let first years have their own racing brooms.  I just  _ know _ that if I had one, I could have made the team.”

 

Harry just shrugged and smiled cheerfully.  “Next year.”

 

 “Have I ever told you that you’re disgustingly complaisant, Harry?” Malfoy asked.

 

 “Hm -” Harry’s eyes drifted upwards, and his head tilted to the side.  “Yesterday you said I was sickeningly optimistic.  And a few days ago, you said I was nauseatingly good-natured.  And last week, you said I was painfully nice.  Though you don’t really whinge when I’m nice to you.  Just nice to other people. But no, I don’t think you’ve ever told me that I’m disgustingly complaisant.”  Harry flashed a wide grin.

 

Callidus smirked.  “Hm.  Sounds like you’re starting to get predictable, Malfoy.”

 

Parkinson, who sat in the row in front of them, turned to face them.  “Draco isn’t starting to get predictable.  He has  _ always  _ been predictable.”  She smiled with amused wickness.

 

 “Of course Malfoy is predictable,” Zabini, who was sitting next to Parkinson, drawled.  “Haven’t you ever seen the Malfoy portrait gallery?  Only their clothes change.  Malfoy is well on his way to turning into his father Lucius.”

 

 “My father is a paragon among his peers,” Malfoy spat.

 

Zabini raised his eyebrow before turning to Parkinson.  “See what I mean?”

 

They were disrupted from their conversation by the appearance of the players on the green.  The Slytherins cheered for their green-clad team, while the Gryffindors whistled and cheered for the players in scarlet.

 

 “The Gryffindors are going to be crushed!” A third year behind them could be heard saying.  His voice held a note of gleeful anticipation.  “They  _ still _ haven’t found a good seeker.”

 

 “I don’t think I’ll ever grow tired of seeing Gryffindors humiliated,” another third year responded with amusement.

 

When the sound of Madam Hooch’s shrill whistle pierced the air, the players mounted their brooms and lifted up into the air.  This would be the first Quidditch match witnessed by Callidus and Harry and thus, their eyes were glued to the players who swooped around the Quidditch pitch.

 

The Slytherin Quidditch players had a style that could be best described as ‘ruthless and aggressive.’  They weren’t afraid to commit Quidditch fouls if they thought it would be advantageous and they had no mercy at all for the other team.  The Slytherin Quidditch Captain was Marcus Flint.  Callidus had seen the cruel-looking boy in the common room and the halls, and he thought that Flint looked like the sort of person whose primary pleasure in life was to inflict pain.  Fortunately, Flint was satisfied to vent all his viciousness on the Quidditch pitch.  But more than once, Callidus had heard Flint’s teammates describe him as sadistic and brutal after practices.  

 

One of the Gryffindors was doing the commentary for the game, but all the Slytherins ignored him.  The commentator was so biased that there was no point listening to him.  Callidus, who still had little love for flying, found himself captivated by the game.  He was swept up in the energy around him.  The Slytherins cheered wildly whenever their team scored, and jeered or moaned if the Gryffindors did the same.  Some of the Slytherins whooped with pleasure whenever a Slytherin player rammed into a Gryffindor one.  They were just as happy to see any of the Gryffindors hit by the flying iron Bludgers (whose only purpose was to knock players off their brooms). 

 

Marcus Flint had gotten a hold of the Quaffle (the leather ball used for scoring).  He zoomed upwards, narrowly escaping a Bludger flying his way courtesy of the Weasley twins.  The Slytherins were breathless with excitement.  Flint flung the Quaffle towards the scoring hoops, but the Gryffindor Keeper Oliver Wood narrowly made the save.  The Slytherins groaned with disappointment, while the Gryffindor crowds whooped with glee.  The Gryffindor players had gained possession of the Quaffle, but an aggressive Bludger slammed into the Gryffindor, and the Slytherins had the Quaffle once again.

 

 “There!” Harry said breathlessly.  “Can’t he see it?”

 

 “See what?” Malfoy called out, trying to be heard over the noisy crowd.

 

 “The snitch!”  Harry exclaimed.  “Higgs is looking in the wrong direction.”  Terrence Higgs was the Slytherin seeker, whose job was to catch the golden snitch and end the game.

 

The crowd of Slytherins was making enough noise that Callidus did not hear the cracking noise beneath him.  One moment, he was watching the Slytherins score a goal, cheering as loudly as the other students. The next moment, there was a jolt, that mirrored the leap of his heart.  Then he was falling backwards, the seat and floor of his section of the stands having broken away.  As he dropped with a strange sense of slow motion, he could see the rectangular hole above.  Harry was dangling from one of the broken sides, while the students around him strained to pull him up.  Callidus’s lungs and stomach felt like he had left them up in the stands, while the rest of him fell.  

 

 ‘I’m going to die,’ he thought.  Then, a horrible pain as something slammed into the middle of his back, before the world faded away to blissful black.

 

When Callidus awoke to the sight of the arching vaulted ceiling, he immediately recognized that he was the in the Hospital wing.  His back felt like a bizarre mix of itchy and numb.  He squirmed, trying to ease the uncomfortable sensation.

 

 “Awake, Mr. Prince?”  Madam Pomfrey appeared by his bedside, giving him a quick look over.  “How are you feeling?  You suffered some very severe injuries, and you’ll have to stay here the rest of the weekend to recover.”

 

 “What happened?” Callidus asked.  “Did Slytherin win the game?”

 

The matron tutted with a mix of disapproval and annoyance.  “After the fall you took, your first question is whether or not Slytherins won the Quidditch match?  You young people have no regard for your own lives.”  

 

Callidus’s lips twisted downwards. “Does that mean they won or lost?”

 

Madam Pomfrey huffed and shook her head.  “I suppose you must not be feeling too bad if that’s all that’s on your mind.  Drink this please.”  The matron handed him a potion.  As he tipped it down his throat, he was pleasantly surprised by its spicy sweet taste, though it also had a hint of saltiness.  “The potion will ensure that your nerves are properly healed.”

 

Callidus hummed.  “I think I detect a bit of unicorn horn, salamander blood, scarab beetles, calendula oil and - hm - the strong sweetness is from the fyre maple syrup.”

 

That, at least, won him a smile from Madam Pomfrey.  “Very good, Mr. Prince.  There are a few other ingredients, but I imagine you’d prefer to research it on your own, rather than being told outright.  You always were gifted at potions. Well, rest up, Mr. Prince.”  With that, the matron strode off.   Despite his correct guesses, Callidus felt vaguely dissatisfied, on top of itchy and uncomfortable.  He didn’t like being trapped in the Hospital Wing.  Especially when there was nothing to entertain him.

 

Callidus sighed.  But he did not have to wait long before Harry and Malfoy entered the infirmary.  Both boys looked pale - though for some reason, Malfoy looked worse.  

 

 “Cal,” Harry said, his voice almost cracking.  “I thought - when I saw what happened - Oh Merlin, I’m so glad you’re okay!”

 

 “Harry, Malfoy,” Callidus greeted the pair.  “What happened?  I thought I saw you hanging on to the edge of the stands, Harry.”

 

 “Yeah, but Draco and the others pulled me up,” Harry explained.

 

Malfoy’s expression was dark.  “A spell was used to weaken the bench under you and Harry,” Malfoy said. 

 

 “Well, we’re not a hundred percent sure it’s a spell.  But the way the section of the stands broke doesn’t look natural, so it probably was a spell,” Harry added.

 

 “The Quidditch Stands are magically created.  They wouldn’t just fall apart naturally,” Malfoy grumbled. “Just wait until my father hears about this.  He’ll have an investigation started right away!”

 

 “Can’t you manage to do anything without your father?” Callidus asked Malfoy, rolling his eyes.

 

Malfoy frowned. “A Slytherin makes use of all the resources they have at hand.”

 

Well, that was true enough.  Callidus sighed.  He was too tired to bait Malfoy.  “So who won the match?” Callidus inquired.

 

 “The game was postponed,” Harry replied.  “We thought -” his voice cracked “- we thought you had died.  Professor Dumbledore called us into his office to asked us what happened.  We only just got out, and we came straight to see you.”

 

 “Did Dumbledore tell you anything?” Callidus asked. 

 

 “He mostly just asked us questions.  But at least he told us that you were alive, and that you were going to be fine.”

 

 “Did you notice anything weird - before the section of the stands broke?”  Callidus aimed his question at both Harry and Malfoy.

 

Both boys shook their heads.  “But this is the second time something has happened to you.  I think someone might purposely be trying to hurt you, Cal,” Harry guessed.  His whole bearing transmitted his concern.

 

 “Someone could have been after you,” Malfoy said to Harry.  “You fell through the broken stands as well.”

 

Harry’s lips turned downwards.  “Who’d want to hurt me?”

 

Callidus and Malfoy shared a look.  It was evident that Harry hadn’t taken the time to thoroughly research his own background.  After all, there were a lot of people in the world that would be all too happy to hurt Harry Potter.  Callidus decided he would have to speak to Dumbledore about it.

 

 “There are a lot of dangerous people out there,” Callidus said to Harry.  As much as he didn’t want to worry his friend, he wasn’t about to leave Harry in the dark.  That was something that  _ adults _ did.  Not friends.

 

 “Like the people that killed my parents,” Harry said, biting his lower lip, and creasing his brow.

 

 “Yeah,” Callidus continued, not looking towards Malfoy.  He wasn’t sure where the blond’s loyalties truly stood.  But unlike Harry, Callidus had read up on modern history and Callidus knew Malfoy’s family had aligned themselves with Voldemort. 

 

 “You’re not the only person who has to be careful.  Frankly, Vold - uh - You-Know-Who’s supporters would probably target a lot of people known to have stood against him, like the Longbottoms or Weasleys.  But you’re in Slytherin Harry - we’re smarter than they are.  Which means we should look into defence training for you - uh - us.  There’s no reason to just be a sitting target”

 

Harry nodded, contemplating Callidus’s words.  Harry turned towards Malfoy.  “What do you think, Draco?”

 

Malfoy’s expression was more serious and guarded than usual.  “You need to protect yourself, Harry.”  Malfoy sighed.  “As irritating as it is to agree with Prince, his idea of extra defence training is a good idea.  Quiver is clearly useless.  Unless your goal is to learn how to be afraid.”

 

Harry sniggered.  “Maybe he could teach us the fastest way to run away from our enemies.”

 

  “Unlikely,” Callidus muttered.  “He’d be too busy fainting for that.”

 

This had both Malfoy and Harry snorting with amusement.  “Well, maybe he could stop someone by giving them a nasty headache.  He gives me headaches.”  Harry wrinkled his nose.

 

 “Still?”  Callidus asked.  “I just tune him out and read the course book in that class.”

 

 “I tried that, but Quiver’s stutter is too distracting,” Harry replied. “Plus, sometimes I get the feeling that he’s staring at me with that weird, twitchy eye of his.”

 

Callidus and Malfoy grimaced.  “Either way, Quiver is useless,” Callidus said.  “Maybe we could ask Dumbledore.”

 

 “The headmaster?” Malfoy said with disdain.  “What’s he going to do?  He’s the one who hired Quiver in the first place.  Hm.  What about Flitwick?  He said he was a Master Duellist.”

 

Harry grinned.  “Yeah!  He was amazing!  I can’t believe he took down that troll so easily!”  Even Callidus was nodding.  Flitwick was approachable and friendly.  Not only that, the diminutive Professor was as fast as a striking snake.  But would Flitwick have the time to spare?  Flitwick didn’t seem as lazy as Slughorn, but most of the Professors were more focused on helping the older students than the younger ones.  If Flitwick wouldn’t help, maybe he could ask Wystan.

 

 “So what else are we going to do?” Harry asked.

 

 “What do you mean?” Callidus asked.

 

 “I mean - this is the second time something has happened to you, Cal,” Harry said.  “Maybe the first time could have been a prank, but not the second!  We should find out who did this.”

 

Callidus and Malfoy looked at Harry incredulously.  “That’s the job of the staff, Harry,” Callidus said. 

 

 “The teachers can’t be everywhere at once,” Harry replied stubbornly.  “I think we should keep our eyes out.  See if anyone’s acting suspicious.  Don’t you think so, Draco?”

 

 “Erm -”  Malfoy looked away from Harry, taking a sudden interest in the wall.

 

 “Well, I’m going to keep my eye out,” Harry said, his jaw set and his eyes determined.

 

Callidus sighed.  “Just don’t do anything impulsive - well, too impulsive, Harry.”

 

Harry and Malfoy stayed and chatted for a while longer before returning to the Slytherin dungeons (though Harry did return with Callidus’s book bag).  Callidus worked on his homework and readings in the evening, stopping only when a House elf popped by to provide his supper.  He was unsurprised when Dumbledore later came to visit him.

 

Callidus had assumed that Dumbledore would want to come by to speak to him.  But to Callidus’s surprise, he was able to sense Dumbledore when the old man entered the infirmary.  There was a shift in the magic, a slight and soft pressure, but the feeling was very subtle.  Callidus felt a flutter of excitement, realizing that his training in magical sensitivity was indeed advancing.  But then again, he hadn’t sensed Harry or Malfoy earlier.  And Dumbledore was one of the most powerful known wizards.  Still, it was more than he had ever sensed before.  

 

  “Hello, Professor,” Callidus called out as soon as he felt Dumbledore’s presence.  A faint expression of interest crossed the headmaster’s face.  But his face quickly returned to benign geniality. 

 

 “Good evening, Callidus,” Dumbledore replied placidly.  “Back in the infirmary again, I see.”

 

Callidus raised his eyebrow.  “Weren’t you supposed to be doing something to prevent that?”

 

The headmaster’s blue eyes became sad.  “Yes, my boy.  I’ve failed you in that.”

 

Callidus sighed.  “Harry was saying earlier that the staff can’t be everywhere at once.  I suppose he’s correct in that matter.”

 

Dumbledore was silent and he looked as though he was thinking.  His gaze was distant.

 

 “Harry, Malfoy and I are considering taking our defence into our own hands,” Callidus said.

 

The headmaster returned his attention to Callidus, white eyebrows lifted.

 

 “We don’t have a definite plan yet.  But we are open to suggestions,” Callidus said pointedly. “And don’t suggest that Defence classes are enough.  If you pay attention to anything that happens in this school, you’d know that Quiver - uh Quirrell is beyond useless.”

 

There was a twitch of the headmaster’s lips, when Callidus called Quirrell ‘Quiver.’  

 

 “Filius could be talked into starting up a dueling club,” Dumbledore replied thoughtfully.  “We used to have dueling clubs in earlier years when we were facing a climate of - ah - conflict.”

 

 “During the last Wizarding War, you mean.”

 

Dumbledore gave a single nod in acknowledgement.

 

 “You don’t have to shelter me you know,” Callidus added.  “I know more than you think.”

 

To that, the Headmaster only smiled mysteriously.  Callidus shook his head and exhaled in annoyance.

 

 “How is everything else, Callidus?” The headmaster queried, with a warm sparkle in his eyes.

 

Callidus arched a black eyebrow.  “Is this a question about Harry?  Or Malfoy.  Wait, what I am saying.  Clearly it’s about both.”

 

 “It’s a question about you,” Dumbledore replied, his lips upturned.

 

Callidus rolled his eyes.  “If you say so,” he replied, doubtfully.  “Hm.  I’m working on trying to trying to increase my magical sensitivity.”

 

 “Oh?  Is that what it was,” the headmaster murmured.

 

One corner of Callidus’s lip lifted up.  “That’s what it was.  As powerful and well-learned as you are, I assume you’re proficient at sensing magic?  Among other things.”

 

 “Well, I’ve had many, many years to learn, my boy,” Dumbledore replied, eyes crinkled behind his half-moon glasses.

 

 “What about - hm - mind reading?”

 

Dumbledore smiled cheerfully.  “What about mind reading?”

 

 “Well, can you do it?” Callidus demanded.  “I couldn’t find any books about it in the library.  And don’t give me one of your non-answers.  I’ll find out somehow.”

 

 “I don’t doubt that you will.”

 

 “That’s a non-answer, Professor,” Callidus replied.  The headmaster was remarkably skilled at grating on his nerves.

 

Dumbledore just hummed.  “If you’re going to find out eventually, then I really don’t need to tell you, do I?”

 

Callidus opened his mouth, before snapping it shut, glowering at Dumbledore.  “You’re impossible.”

 

This only had the effect of causing the headmaster’s eyes to twinkle.  

 

 “Did you talk to my adult-self like this?  Because if you did, I’m not sure I can believe you when you claim that you were friends,” Callidus said.

 

Dumbledore chuckled, unable to help himself.  “Yes,” he said, still chortling. “We were indeed friends.  It always was a pleasure to speak to Severus, just as it’s a pleasure to speak to you.”

 

 “Why do I get the feeling that it wasn’t exactly a pleasure for the old Severus?” Callidus grumbled, shaking his head.

 

Callidus and the headmaster spoke of a few more things before Dumbledore left.  The headmaster didn’t ask about either Harry or Malfoy.  But Callidus had a feeling that the old man already knew all there was to know.

 

Before Dumbledore left, he said: “Callidus - I want you to know that we’re taking the threat against you very seriously.”

 

Callidus nodded.  As maddening as the headmaster could be, Callidus knew that he cared.  


	18. Chapter 18

The following day, Callidus was startled to see that he wasn’t alone when he woke.  Granger appeared to be setting something down on his bedside table.  In fact, it looked like there were several items on his bedside table.  Cards?  How did they all get there?  Based on the faintness of the light, it was still fairly early and he doubted that most other people were awake.  Perhaps the cards were sent by magical means.

 

 “Granger?” Callidus said, puzzled.  “What are you doing here?”  He pushed himself into a sitting position, which caused his back to prickle strangely.  

 

 “Oh!  I didn’t mean to wake you,” Granger said.  Her expression was filled with Gryffindor-ish earnestness and concern.  “I just wanted to leave you a get well card.  It seemed too impersonal to send it by owl.”  She set the card on the table, and the looked at him with evident nervousness.

 

Callidus wasn’t sure of what to make of that.  For a moment, he almost thought he felt happy, but that couldn’t be.

 

So he said: “You didn’t have to do that.”

 

 “I know,” Granger replied.  “I wanted to.”

 

 “Oh.”

 

There was stretch of awkward silence.  “I suppose I’ll go then,” Granger said, turning away.

 

 “Wait!” Callidus called out.  Granger turned back to look at him with a questioning look.  Callidus winced.  Why had he just done that?  He had no idea what to say to her.

 

 “Um.  Thank you?”

 

Granger’s smile was warm.

 

 “You’re welcome.”  She turned and walked towards the exit, but then she hesitated.  She turned, angled half towards the door, and half towards him.

 

 “I imagine it must get tiring in the infirmary with nothing to do.  Do you want me to get you a book from the library?” Granger asked.

 

Callidus frowned, which caused Granger to wince.  “Nevermind.  Sorry I asked.”

 

 “No!” Callidus exclaimed.  “It’s not that.  It’s just that I already owe you for the last time I got hurt.  I don’t exactly feel comfortable, knowing I’m in your debt.” 

 

 “You don’t owe me anything,” Granger replied, looking mystified.  

 

Callidus opened his mouth and then shut it, wrinkling his brows.  This sounded like one of those Gryffindor notions.  As as a Slytherin, shouldn’t he take advantage of it?

 

 “I was heading there anyway,” Granger added.  “It would be no trouble.”

 

Callidus hummed.  “Right then.  Erm.  Why don’t you pick something you think would be interesting?”  He figured this would be less of a burden than making her search through the entire library for something he preferred.

 

Granger smiled.  “Alright.  I’ll be back soon.”  Callidus nodded.

 

When she left, he turned towards the table and picked up the cards.  There was one from Slughorn and another from Wystan.  Harry left a note instead of a card, mentioning that he would come by later.  But what surprised him were the cards from Parkinson, Zabini and Bulstrode.  

 

Parkinson’s read: ‘ _ You’re worrying Harry.  It’s tiring.  Get well soon. -Pans _ y’

 

Zabini’s read: ‘ _ Who did you piss off, Prince?  I’ll try and keep Malfoy’s ego in check while you’re healing _ .’  This one caused him to chuckle.

 

Bulstrode’s simply read: ‘ _ Get Better _ .’  It sounded more a command, but he knew that the large girl meant well, and it made him smile.  Bulstrode’s words may have been few, and she wasn’t the most articulate of people, but Callidus had learned that she was also more intelligent than she appeared. 

 

He thought it odd that Bulstrode and even Parkinson sent a card, while Davis didn’t.  It was no surprise that Greengrass hadn’t.  If anything, she probably wished he had died.  It wasn’t long before Granger returned.  She was holding a thick book against her chest as she entered the infirmary.

 

 “Here,” she said, handing him the book.  “I found this particularly interesting.  I rather thought that you might like it.”

 

Callidus glanced down at the title.   _ Anomalous Magical Theories: The Bizarre, the Paradoxical, and the Mysteries of Magic _ .  

 

Callidus looked up at Granger.  “Thanks,” he said, with a smile.  __ “It looks interesting.”

 

Granger beamed.  “Let me know what you think of it.  I’ll see you later, Prince.”

 

By Monday, Callidus was free to leave the infirmary.  The book that Granger had given him was interesting enough that he read most of it as he was lying on the infirmary bed.  Some of the theories that had been mentioned in the book reminded him of the ancient magics that Malfoy had spoken of.  Many ancient manuscripts spoke of magic as though it were almost sentient, but modern theory treated magic as a tool, to be harnessed and used by magical creatures.

 

He met the other Slytherin first years at the Great Hall for breakfast.  Harry had a wide smile.  Zabini and Parkinson gave him enigmatic half-smiles.  Bulstrode looked him up and down, and then nodded to herself, as though satisfied that he was in one piece.  Nott and Davis glanced over at him, but then ignored him.  Greengrass looked disappointed but she managed to refrain from making any comment.  Still, there was a look in her eyes that promised future trouble.

 

 “So did any of you hear about those horrible Weasley twin’s latest prank?” Parkinson said, after Callidus sat down.  Her eyes gleamed with satisfaction when the other Slytherins leaned towards her.  “Marcus was absolutely furious.”

 

 “Oh, just spill it,” Zabini said, rolling his eyes.  “You already know that we’re interested.”

 

Parkinson pouted, before continuing.  “Apparently, they turned all the Quidditch uniforms scarlet.  I heard Marcus saying that he wanted to  _ Imperio _ the Weasleys and make them skin themselves alive until they were scarlet all over.”

 

Greengrass shuddered.  “Marcus has the mind of a savage.  As for the Weasleys, it’s no less than they deserve,” Greengrass sniffed.  “The pair of them are unruly beasts.”

 

 “I pity the lady that finds herself married to Marcus,” Parkinson added, peeking over at the Quidditch captain before returning her gaze to other first years.  

 

Zabini leered.  “Who knows.  Maybe there’s some witch out there who is into that kind of thing.”

 

All the girls at the table seemed to wince with disgust.  Callidus just buttered his toast.  It sounded like business as usual.  The only thing different was that Harry wouldn’t stop scanning the Great Hall.

 

 “What are you doing, Harry?” Callidus eventually asked, when it was clear that Harry was determined to remain hyper-alert.

 

 “Huh?  Oh.  Just keeping my eye out for anything that might seem suspicious,” the green-eyed boy replied.  Malfoy just shook his head and rolled his eyes.

 

 “If Prince needs protection, he should just hire someone or let the teachers take care of it,” Malfoy said with irritation.  “You’re not his lackey, Harry.”

 

 “No.  But I’m his friend,” Harry replied.  The words made Callidus feel a golden glow of happiness.  Plus, Malfoy looked so sour about it.  That was like the icing on top.

 

Nonetheless, Callidus said: “You don’t have to look out for me Harry.  Don’t do anything that could put you in danger.”

 

 “Whoever it is is after you, not me,” Harry replied.  “I’ll be fine.”  

 

Callidus and Malfoy frowned.  Neither of them thought that was a good line of reasoning but Harry looked so determined that they were unlikely to dissuade him.  Their best hope was that nothing would happen, and Harry would forget all about it.  

 

A few days later, a new notice showed up on the Slytherin common room that had all the students chattering with interest.  

 

 “They’re starting a dueling club,” the three boys heard a fourth year saying.  The crowd of Slytherins around the noticeboard was still too thick for the first years to push through.

 

 “Flitwick is running it,” the fourth year continued.  The trio shared a look.  Their eyes lit up with interest.  

 

 “This is perfect!” Harry exclaimed, his green eyes aglow with excitement.

 

 “I guess Dumbledore isn’t so useless after all,” Callidus said to Malfoy with a smug smile.  But then he realized who he had just defended, and his smile faltered.  Callidus both liked, and couldn’t stand Dumbledore.  The man was still as maddening as ever, but Callidus was aware that most Slytherins disliked the muggle-loving Headmaster.

 

 “You spoke to Dumbledore about this?” Malfoy asked.  “Is this something to do with how you were staying at Hogwarts over the summer?”  Malfoy’s grey eyes were sharp with suspicion.

 

Callidus had to think up some suitably Slytherin excuse.  “Ah - well, yes, the Headmaster has gotten to know me because of that.  And as you said, Slytherins ought to use every resource, isn’t that so?”

 

Malfoy’s expression became calculating.  He hummed with contemplation, before shrugging and looking away.  Callidus had the feeling that the blond would remember this conversation, and try to turn it to his advantage.  Just because Callidus didn’t respect the blond, it didn’t mean that Malfoy lacked cunning.  It was the opposite in fact - as childish and annoying as Malfoy was, he still had a sharp mind.  

 

When the crowd of older Slytherins had cleared enough, the second and first years went to look at the noticeboard.  The first dueling club meeting would be that evening at 8 o’clock.  The initial meeting would be at the Great Hall, and depending on the turn out, a later location would be found. The club would also be open to students of all years and there was a request for sixth or seventh year volunteers from each House.

 

 “This is going to be brilliant!” Harry exclaimed, unable to contain his enthusiasm.  “Maybe we’ll learn something other than how to shoot sparks, or create smokescreens.”

 

 “Smokescreens are pretty useful.  Especially for cowards like Quiver.  Perfect opportunity to run and hide,” Callidus replied with a smirk.

 

Harry rolled his eyes.  “I don’t want to have dueling skills like Quiver.  I want to actually face my enemies.”

 

 “I’d love to get the chance to hex Weasel,” Malfoy said, his grey eyes glinting with malevolence.  “The only reason I’ve been able to keep my peace around him is because I dread the prospect of another month of detention with him.  That and I find it helps to imagine all the ways I’d like to curse him.  Oh, the things I’d do - hex his eyes out, turn all his bones backwards, fill his lungs with boiling water -”

 

Callidus looked over at the blond, expecting him to break out into villainous laughter.  He was a bit disappointed when it didn’t happen.  It would have been amusing, like something from a muggle comic book.  Admittedly, he had only ever seen one muggle comic book (that he stole from one of the kids at this primary school).  It had been one of the few aspects of the muggle world that he found quite interesting.  Especially if the heroes or villains had special powers that didn’t have magical counterparts.  Like shooting spider webs from one’s wrist.

 

That evening, the trio made their way down to the Great Hall, joined by Zabini, Bulstrode and Davis.  As they entered the Hall, there was already a large crowd of milling students.  The long tables had been cleared out of the room, making the Great Hall look bigger than before.  Where the Head Table used to be, there was a large platform, upon which stood Flitwick.  Even with the platform, he wasn’t much taller than the sixth and seventh years in the crowd.

 

The three boys scanned the crowd.  Both Callidus and Harry were interested to see who had showed up (many, many Gryffindors, it seemed).  Malfoy’s eyes seemed to pause than then gleam cruelly when they fell upon Weasley.  Harry inched a bit closer to Callidus.

 

 “There’s a lot of people here.  I reckon no one would dare to attack you with a crowd like this.  But after the Quidditch game, we can’t be too sure,” Harry said in a low voice, his green eyes keen.

 

 “Really, Harry - you don’t have to look out for me,” Callidus replied.  Harry was taking this matter of protection a little too seriously.  Callidus was about to comment that as first years, there was little that they could do, but Harry’s expression was mulish.  It seemed that Harry had a rather substantial protective streak.

 

They were prevented from saying anything more when Flitwick spoke, using a  _ Sonorus _ charm to amplify his voice.

 

 “Hello everyone!” Professor Flitwick squeaked with enthusiasm.  His voice, amplified by the charm, caused quite number of students to jump in surprise.  But it silenced the crowd, and all eyes turned towards the platform.

 

 “Welcome to the first meeting of the Hogwarts Dueling club,” Flitwick continued sunnily.  “It’s just splendid to see such interest in the noble art of dueling!  Just splendid!  Now, I don’t have an assistant, so I’m going to need some sixth or seventh year volunteers from each House.  Please come up to the front if you’re interested.”

 

A number of the older students made their way to the platform.  Callidus noticed that there were more students from the other Houses than Slytherins.  However, one of the volunteers he recognized was Wystan, who grinned when he saw Callidus and his friends.  Flitwick had removed the  _ Sonorus _ charm, but Callidus was close enough to the front to hear what the Professor was saying.  

 

Flitwick organized the volunteers into those who wished to help the younger, less experienced students, and those who wished to work with the older students.  With a wave of his wand, bright cylinders of light appeared above the students’ heads.  A closer inspection revealed that the lights were actually miniature glowing wands that emitted the occasional spark.  Evidently, Flitwick couldn’t resist a touch of fancy Charms work.  The volunteers who wished to help the younger students had dark purple wands emitting light purple sparks.  Those who wished to help older students had orange wands.  Apparently, Flitwick was sharp enough to choose colours that would not inflame house rivalries.

 

He divided the four Houses into groups, with the volunteers working with their own Houses.  Wystan grinned at the young Slytherins, a purple light waving merrily above his head.

 

 “We’ll start with learning to disarm your opponent,” Flitwick said, once the groups were organized.  “Now I know that this will be basic for some of you, but it is nonetheless effective, and it never hurts to practice.  The incantation is  _ Expelliarmus _ .  For those who don’t know the wand movement, the volunteers will show you.  Everyone, pair up with a friend!”

 

Malfoy looked disappointed that he wouldn’t get a chance to hex Weasley.  Though this was only the first dueling club meeting, Flitwick was organized (and clever) enough to prevent the first meeting from turning into a chaotic free-for-all.

 

 “You heard the man,” Wystan said to the younger students who had gathered around him.  “Pair up!”  Wystan was grinning widely as he said this.  It was no surprise to Callidus, to see how many of the young Slytherins seemed familiar with the charismatic seventh year.

 

While Malfoy was busy looking daggers at Weasley, Callidus paired up with Harry.  This caused Malfoy to look even more frustrated, and Callidus couldn’t resist giving the blond his laziest, and most self-satisfied smile.  Throughout the Hall, Callidus could hear students uttering ‘ _Expelliarmus_ ’ over and over.  Flashes of bright scarlet lit the large room, as many of the older students successfully disarmed their opponents.  However, none of the first years had had a chance to try this particular defencive spell before.  Wystan had told them not to be disappointed if they couldn’t manage to get the spell to work.  It was a second year spell after all.  

 

Callidus was delighted when he was able to disarm Harry after only four tries, though in truth, his efforts weren’t powerful.  On his first successful attempt, Harry had flinched when his wand twitched in his hand.  Harry’s weak grip had caused the wand to fall by Harry’s feet.  But success was still success.  After helping Harry with his pronunciation, the other boy also managed to disarm him, and by the end of the first dueling club meeting, both boys were grinning like loons.  Even Malfoy had gotten over his irritation, and was beaming brightly when he managed to disarm Zabini.

 

 “That was brilliant!” Harry was saying, as the Slytherins made their way back to the dungeons when the club had finished for the night.  “I can’t wait for next week!”

 

 “I’m impressed by what you firsties have accomplished,” Wystan said, overhearing their excited chatter.  “You all did just as well as the Ravenclaws, and much better than either the Gryffindors or Hufflepuff firsties.”

 

This had the first years puffed up with pride.  “I wish Flitwick had started a dueling club sooner.  I would have loved to have something like that from my first year,” Wystan continued, with a crooked, rueful smile.

 

 “S’all thanks to Cal,” Harry said.  “He’s the one who spoke to Professor Dumbledore about it.”

 

 “Oh?” Wystan looked over at Callidus, his eyebrows raised.  “I didn’t realize you were on such good terms with the headmaster.”

 

Callidus was flushed with embarrassment.  Most of the other Slytherins had heard, and were looking his way.  He mumbled something incoherent, which only caused Wystan to smile with amusement.

 

“No need to be embarrassed,” Wystan said.  “Slytherins understand the importance of connections.  It’s impressive that you made this all happen.”

 

He knew that Wystan was only trying to help, but somehow, this only made him more self-conscious.  Now everyone would think the whole thing was his idea, even though it wasn’t.  But his denials went unheard.  By the next day, word had somehow gotten around, and the majority of the school believed the dueling club was Callidus’s idea.  Students were randomly coming up to him, saying things like “Great idea!”  A few others (Hufflepuffs, probably) patted him on the back.  The attention was both awkward, but gratifying.  More so, considering how petulant it made Malfoy.  But then again, anything that put Malfoy in a bad mood usually put Callidus in a good one.


	19. Chapter 19

Later in the week, Callidus was on his way to the library, after getting sick of listening to Malfoy talking about himself (or some related topic.)  How Harry had the patience for it, Callidus didn’t know.  As much as it riled him to leave Malfoy and Harry on their own, Callidus had to get away.  Harry was his best friend, but Callidus couldn’t forget why he was here: to be the top student of his year.  This meant that frequent visits to the library were necessary, even if he had to go by himself.  

 

It would have been nice if Harry were more bookish.  Lily had enjoyed reading.  Though if Callidus were honest with himself, he’d have to admit that as clever as Lily was, she wasn’t what he’d describe as bookish.  Lily had been very intelligent, with a mind quicker than a golden snitch.  But she had embraced all of her life with vibrant passion - not just books.  Granger on the other hand - well, Callidus didn’t think it would be possible to love books too much until he met her.  Though if Callidus didn’t have friends, maybe he would have been the same.  The very idea sent a shiver creeping down his spine.  What would his life had been like without Lily?  Without Harry?  It wasn’t worth considering.

 

As Callidus turned a corner, he caught sight of a mane of brown bushy hair.  Was it Granger?  His senses were on alert.  It struck him as odd - the Gryffindor Tower was in the other direction.  He rarely ever saw Granger in the corridors - it was either the library or the classroom.  Odder still, Granger wasn’t alone.  She was talking to one of the Ravenclaws of their year.  Lisa Tubbin?  Turpin?   Something like that.  Upon seeing Granger, he inclined his head towards her in greeting, allowing a measure of warmth into his eyes, even if it did not reach his lips.  Granger’s answering smile was friendly.  In fact, many of their recent interactions appeared to be warmer than they once were.

 

Turpin, who had not noticed him, flinched and turned her head towards him.  The Ravenclaw girl pursed her lips and slitted her eyes.  Then, she pulled Granger into the shadows, hissing something indecipherable in Granger’s ear.  Had Granger finally made a friend?  No surprise that it would be a Ravenclaw.  Callidus put the matter out of his mind as he turned a bend towards the library.  Granger’s company was none of his concern.  And Callidus had to admit, once you got past her grating know-it-all tendencies, Granger was quite a nice.  It was strange, but he was glad that she might be making friends.  She was a good person, even if he’d never say so out loud.

 

Callidus had found an empty table at the library, and lost track of time taking notes about Transfiguration theory.  While Potions far more engrossing, that did not mean that he neglected his other subjects.  He was caught by surprise when he looked up and saw Granger entering the library.  The Gryffindor girl’s expression was pensive.  She was biting down on her lower lip, and when she noticed him, he almost thought he saw a flash of guilt.  But what could she possibly be guilty about?  He raised a black eyebrow in her direction.  Granger furrowed her brow, and shook her head, before finding an empty table and sitting down.

 

Callidus frowned, feeling his curiosity growing, but he told himself that it was none of his business.  After all, it wasn’t like he and Granger were _friends_.  She was just a peer, with respectable intelligence, unlike the rest of the pinheads that populated the school.  Callidus forced his attention back to Transfiguration theory.  Perhaps he was more tired than he thought because he couldn’t make heads or tails of what he was reading.  When he looked up again, he noticed that the library was almost empty.  It was just him, Granger, and a few fourth or fifth years.  And Granger still looked troubled.

 

It occurred to him that this would be the perfect opportunity to discuss that book that she had brought him when he was in the infirmary.  It wasn’t as though he knew anyone else who had an in depth appreciation of anomalous magical theory (or even regular magical theory).  And he did crave intellectual discussions with someone who was on his level.  Harry and Malfoy were intelligent but couldn’t imagine either of them discussing theory for fun.

 

Gathering his parchment, books and satchel, he stood up from his seat and made his way to Granger’s empty table, sitting across from her.  Granger’s head tilted to the side, her eyes inquisitive and only a little defencive.

 

 “Hello,” Callidus greeted.

 

 “Hi?” Granger replied.

 

 “I finished that book you suggested,” Callidus began.  “The section on freeform magic was fascinating.  As witches and wizard, we tend to focus on bending magic to our will.  It is very much a mentality of dominion and control.  It’s interesting to consider the implications of magic that is allowed free reign to do as it wills.  It brings to mind some of the old folk tales about how certain creatures and humans were chosen by magic itself, to bear its power.  Of course, few witches and wizard believe such things nowadays.  But we have yet to find a plausible theory on how we came by our magic.  Are you friends with Lisa Turpin?”  Curse it!  He didn’t mean to let that slip out.  

 

 “What?”  Granger was blinking at him rather owlishly.  “Lisa?  Um - I can’t really talk about it.”  Granger was now biting her lips again.

 

Callidus frowned.  He was mildly curious before.  But a response like that only amplified his interest.  “Why?” he asked.

 

 “I just - she asked me not to,” Granger replied, folding her arms across her chest and jutting her jaw forward.

 

Callidus hummed deep in his throat, examining Granger with his black gaze.  Her expression was mulish, but there was a flicker of uncertainty in her eyes.

 

 “A secret then,” Callidus said silkily.  “How intriguing.”

 

Granger’s eyes slid away from his face to the books on the table.  Her lips were turned downwards, but she did not seem angry.  It was evident that something was bothering her though.

 

 “What are your thoughts on the idea of channeling magic with orbs or the Platonic Solids?”  Callidus asked.  It was clear that Granger would reveal nothing more about Turpin.  And while he would hardly describe himself as sensitive, neither was he keen on hectoring the girl.

 

Granger was surprised, but this soon changed to gratitude when she realized what he was doing.  She gave him an in depth analysis of using geometric shapes to channel magic, expressing her ideas with bright animation.  It was clear that Granger had a deep love for knowledge.  Callidus found it puzzling, how she ended up in Gryffindor instead of Ravenclaw.  And as he expected, he found himself absorbed in a fascinating discussion about obscure magical theories.  His Transfiguration notes were forgotten, and he and Granger talked until Madam Pince announced the library would be closing.

 

Over the weekend, the Slytherin and Gryffindor Quidditch teams had their rematch, and to the Slytherins’ delight, the Snakes crushed the Lions.  The weather had been crisp and clear, and the Slytherins were buoyant in the celebration of their win.  There was a raucous party in the Slytherin dungeons, but to the disappointment of the younger students, they were forced to go to their dormitories early (“so as to not corrupt your innocent little minds,” according to the older students.)  

 

Later in the week, Callidus was in Potions lab nine in one of his regular meetings with Wystan.  Some days, he spent the entire session busy with a potion, while Wystan worked on his own assignments, but other days, Wystan would be in a talkative mood.  After nearly three months at Hogwarts, Callidus saw Wystan as both a mentor and a friend.  Though they were very different people, he was interested to know about Wystan’s life.

 

 “I don’t think it’s going to last,” Wystan said, with a sigh.

 

 “What?” Callidus looked at the older boy with confusion, unsure of what he was talking about.

 

 “Me and Calanthe.”

 

 “Er - oh, your Ravenclaw girlfriend?”

 

Wystan nodded, and sighed again.  “It never lasts.  They’re never who I want.”  Wystan’s expression was mournful.

 

 “Never who you want?  Wait - are you saying you don’t even want to be with Calanthe-or-whatever-her-name-is?”  Callidus pictured the tall, blonde Ravenclaw girl.  She was quite pretty, but she also struck him as being rather cold.

 

 “It’s not that I don’t want to be with Calanthe.  It’s just that there’s someone I want more.  But she doesn’t want me.”

 

 “There’s someone that doesn’t want you?”  Callidus raised a black eyebrow at the older boy.  Most Slytherins were observant, and Callidus considered himself more observant than most.  But one would have to be blind and deaf to be ignorant of how desirable Wystan was to the female population of Hogwarts.  In fact, one of Parkinson’s favourite topics of gossip was about the girls who made fools of themselves over Wystan.  Most of those stories involved love potions.

 

 “Tales of my popularity are vastly exaggerated,” Wystan replied wryly.  “But it never hurts to manipulate public perception of one’s image, I suppose.”

 

 “Ever the Slytherin.”  Callidus rolled his eyes, but a smile pulled at his lips.

 

 “Naturally.”

 

 “I thought Slytherins were good at getting what they wanted,” Callidus challenged.

 

 “I haven’t stopped trying,” Wystan admitted morosely.  “And I’ll probably ask her out again, even if she does reject me every year.”

 

 “Every year?  How long as has this been going on?”

 

 “I’ve had a crush on her since fourth year.”

 

Callidus raised his eyebrow again.  “Did you insult her mother or something?  Cast aspersions on her bloodline?  Irreparably humiliate yourself?”

 

Wystan chewed the inside of his cheek and shook his head.  His uncertain expression caused him to look younger than his seventeen years.

 

“You know, I’ve heard about your dating history from Parkinson.  How is it that you’ve managed to date half the female population of Hogwarts without them all hating you?”  Callidus asked.

 

Wystan looked affronted.  “Hate?  Me?  Come on now, Callidus.  Do you really think anyone would hate me?”  A sparkle of humour lit Wystan’s eyes.  

 

 “Well, apparently your crush doesn’t like you very much,” Callidus replied.  But he regretted the words as soon as they left his lips when he saw how crushed Wystan looked.

 

 “Is she a Gryffindor?  Is that why she won’t date you?”  Callidus asked.

 

Wystan shook his head.  “I’ve dated Gryffindors before.  And yes, that’s plural.  She’s a Hufflepuff actually.”

 

 “A ‘Puff?”  Callidus’s expression was incredulous.

 

Wystan nodded, looking like a kicked puppy.  He sighed, yet again.  “Ugh.  I don’t know why I even brought this up.  Time to change the topic.  Did you know that Harry has been asking about you?”

 

 “What?  Harry?”

 

 “Well, not asking about you specifically,” Wystan clarified. “I should say, Harry has been asking if anyone is acting suspiciously around you.  He’s protective, that kid.  You don’t have any enemies that you’ve never told me about, have you, Callidus?”

 

Callidus huffed with exasperation, causing Wystan to chuckle.

 

 “I didn’t think so,” Wystan continued.  “Though if other people thought you were Professor Snape’s son - hey, don’t look at me like that, you really do look like him!  - then maybe people would want to hurt you for that reason.”

 

Callidus knit his brow.  It never failed to make him a bit dizzy, to think that there was a whole life that he had lived that was now forgotten.  Better not to think of it.

 

 “Was Malfoy involved in all this?” Callidus asked.  Some part of him shriveled at the thought of being excluded.  Harry and Malfoy already shared a love of flying.  And though it was selfish, Callidus didn’t want them to share more.

 

 “No, it was just Harry.”  Wystan smiled with amusement.  “He really has to work on acting less suspiciously though.  I don’t think Harry realizes just how conspicuous he is.  So what are you planning to brew today?

 

 “I wasn’t planning to brew today,” Callidus admitted.  “I wanted to work on my magical sensitivity, but with some of the more volatile ingredients, and with differently prepared ingredients.  I’ve been practicing as much as possible in my spare time.  But there’s only so much I can do on my own.”

 

 “Right then, what do you need me to do?” Wystan asked.  

 

Callidus had the older boy set out a list of potions ingredients, prepared in different ways.   Meanwhile Callidus sat before the table and kept his eyes closed.  When Wystan was done, Callidus’s eyes remained shut as Wystan guided his hands over the different ingredients.  Already, he could feel the foreign magic interacting with his own.

 

 “This one feels related to this one over here,” Callidus said.  “But that one feels like a distorted version of the other one.  It’s so strange - the magic flows out of it differently.  It reminds me of seeing someone bleeding.  It’s as though it’s oozing magic.”  Callidus could feel a thrill of excitement thrumming through him.  To feel magic itself - it was both awe-inspiring and humbling.  Even though this was something he practiced daily, and even though it was exhausting, it was also wonderful.  And though progress was slow, he could tell he was improving.  He could sense more and and more as the weeks passed.

 

Because Callidus’s eyes were closed, he didn’t see Wystan’s eyes widen.  “Wow - that’s - wow,” Wystan said.  “Yeah, you just identified a whole Sopophorous Bean, and one that’s been cut in half.”

 

 “Oh!  This one feels similar too!” Callidus added.  “But it’s magic feels even more distorted, and more magic is leaking from it.”  Callidus was unable to help the smile that pulled at his lips.  The very texture of the magic was beautiful and sensual experience.  His skin tingled, not from the magic, but from his sense of wonder.  Yet, he could feel the toll it was taking on him.

 

 “Huh - also a Sopophorous Bean, but this one is crushed.  That’s amazing Callidus!  I thought you said you’ve only been practicing magical sensing for a month or so.”

 

Callidus grinned, his eyes still closed.  “Yeah, it hasn’t been long.  But I spent every moment of free time I have working on it.  But it’s tiring.  I read that while some people naturally have strong magical sensitivity, for others, it’s a learned process that is magically draining.  I suppose I’m in the latter category.  Huh - whatever this thing is feels really powerful.  It feels almost dangerous.  Whereas this over here has a softness to it.”

 

 “Why do you even bother to stay in first year Potions?  I’m sure Slughorn would let you skip ahead,” Wystan said, breaking Callidus’s concentration.

 

Callidus shrugged.  He had his reasons, though he did not want to admit them to Wystan.  In truth, he stayed in first year Potions to help Harry.  It was one of Harry’s weaker subjects and Callidus knew that if he left Harry on his own, Slughorn was lazy enough to overlook him.  The Potions Professor never made a real effort for students who struggled.

 

 “Though I guess I’ve never heard of a student being allowed to skip ahead at Hogwarts,” Wystan continued.  “Maybe it’s a school policy.  I know a fourth year Ravenclaw who is a genius at Arithmancy, but she’s forced to take fourth year Arithmancy classes, even if she already understand seventh year material.  It always seemed rather unfair.”

 

Callidus just hummed in response.  His eyes remained close, and his hand hovered over the table, trying to sense if he had missed anything.  After he was done, Callidus was pleased to see that he was getting a good sense of magical ingredients.  However, he still struggled to sense anything from non-magical ingredients.  Non-magical ingredients would not have a magical impression, but if a wizard was adept enough, then their own magical sensitivity could detect the effects of non-magical ingredients.

 

 “I should get going,” Wystan said, once the ingredients were cleared away, and the work table cleaned.  “Unless there’s anything else you need?”

 

Callidus shook his head.  “No, I don’t believe so - oh wait!  Do you have access to the restricted section in the library?”

 

 “Of course,” Wystan replied.  “I’m guessing you wanted to see the potion related material?”

 

 “Uh - that too.  Actually, I wanted to see if I could find anything related to mind reading,” Callidus confessed.

 

 “Mind magic?  That’s an obscure branch of magic.  I don’t recall what it’s called, but I have friend who knows.  I’ll get back to you on that.  Anyhow, see you later, yeah?”

 

Callidus nodded his head, waving his mentor off.  When Callidus stood up from his chair, he felt a like his world had just tilted sideways and he groaned from the disorientating dizziness.  He knew that magical sensitivity was not a passive form of magic.  And while he was used to being drained from his personal sessions, he felt wearier than usual.  Wystan’s excitement had goaded him on, pushing him a bit past his limits.

 

It was unfortunate that magical sensing was so draining.  If it were easier, then he could do as Wystan had earlier suggested - sense people, sense danger, sense the presence of any magic, anywhere.  But since magical sensitivity was in fact, quite challenging, he decided he would rather save the effort for potions.  It was less effort to focus his energies on a localized area, such as specific ingredients, or a particular potion, than to sense the diffuse magic that was all around him.  And it was potions that mattered the most to him in the end.

 

The following day, the Slytherin first years had Charms as their first class.  Class time was spent doing an increasing amount of wand work.  For many of the Slytherins, whose parents allowed them to practice magic before coming to Hogwarts, the material was basic.  Callidus found it easy as well - but in his case, that was due to his own diligence and practice.  But for muggleborns and muggle-raised witches and wizards, the class was a little more difficult.

 

Harry’s progress was often mixed.  It was rare that Harry ever successfully did the charm on the first few tries, but once he was able to do it, his magic was always powerful and focused.  It was evident that Harry’s learning style was intuitive, rather than theory-based.  Meanwhile Callidus and Malfoy remained silent rivals in class, each always trying to best the other.  The pair of them had a silent language that consisted of raised eyebrows, smug expressions, smirks, eye rolls and glowering.  Though Callidus’s favourite expression to see on Malfoy’s face was puckered jealousy.  It was almost better than receiving House points for his excellent academic work.

 

Following Charms was one of his least favourite classes, Defence Against the Dark Arts.  And with the commencement of the dueling club, Defence classes felt even more useless than usual.

 

Harry sighed unhappily.  “Time to prepare myself for yet another headache,” he said morosely.  “I hate Defence.”

 

Callidus and Malfoy were both sympathetic.  As the students entered the classroom, their noses were assailed by the pungent scent of garlic.  Quirrell was as pale and twitchy as ever, and Callidus was almost convinced that he was stammering more than usual.  Harry had a hand pressed to his forehead, and his teeth were tightly clenched.  Yet Harry seemed to be focused for the entire class - more so than usual, at least.  When they were finally released from the torment of Quirrell’s lecture, the students fled the class with palpable eagerness.

 

 “Maybe it’s Quiver,” Harry said, as trio walked towards their next class.

 

 “What?”  Callidus said, as Malfoy said, “Come again?”

 

 “I mean, maybe the person who is trying to hurt you is Quirrell.  I just noticed that he’s always looking in our direction in class,” Harry explained.

 

Callidus couldn’t hide his disbelief.  “Quiver?  Why would he even want to hurt me?”

 

 “I dunno,” Harry replied, pursing his lips.  But he wore an expression of deep concentration.  “Maybe it’s because he heard you started the dueling club!  He could be jealous.”

 

 “Both of those incidences happened before the dueling club even started,” Callidus replied.

 

 “Oh - oh, right.”  Harry frowned.  “But it could still be Quiver.  Maybe he has some other reason.”

 

Callidus shrugged.  The notion seemed too ridiculous to consider.  Even if Quirrell wanted to hurt him, he couldn’t imagine the man holding his wand without his hands shaking.  Quirrell struck him as being useless, both inside and outside the classroom.  At the same time, it could be dangerous to underestimate someone.  While Quirrell was hardly his main suspect, he knew it was best to be careful.

 

The end of the day was met with relief.  Their last class had been History of Magic, and while most of the students napped, it was never truly restful - not when they were left with aching backs and cramped legs.  Callidus forced himself to stay awake, and read his History textbook.  While Malfoy was pressured by his father to do well, Callidus pressured himself.  Professor Binns voice may have been more soporific than a sleeping potion.  But that wasn’t an excuse for a bad performance in class.  And what if Granger ended up getting a better mark from him in History?  That would be intolerable.  Knowing her, she probably hung off Binns’ every word.  While he was getting along better with Granger, that didn’t mean that their unspoken competition had been set aside (though the rivalry could have very well been one-sided since he had never actually discussed the matter with Granger.)

 

The Slytherins had made their way back to the common room, and were gathered at their usual spot.  Callidus, Harry and Malfoy were joined by Zabini, Davis, Parkinson and Bulstrode.  Greengrass and Nott were elsewhere - Callidus never paid much heed to what they did, although he knew that Greengrass and Nott socialized with Malfoy, and sometimes Harry when he wasn’t around.  Greengrass still hated Callidus with a fiery intensity, but that didn’t mean that he kept track of her whereabouts.  For the most part, he didn’t care.

 

He was reading through his Transfigurations textbook.  It was one of the more challenging classes.  But his attention was pulled away by the discussion that the other first years were having.

 

 “Why do you never do what I ask?” Malfoy whinged in that typical plaintive tone of voice.  The one that made Callidus want to hex his own ears off.

 

 “What do you mean, Draco?”  Harry asked.

 

 “Well, Crabbe and Goyle used to always do what I asked.”

 

 “When did I refuse to do something you asked?”

 

  “I asked you earlier today if I could use Hedwig to send a letter,” Malfoy pointed out.

 

Harry rolled his eyes.  “You weren’t asking.  You were ordering.  And I don’t take orders.  Besides, Hedwig isn’t some _thing_ to be used.  She has feelings you know.”  Since Harry’s (temporary) escape from the Dursleys, he was sensitive about avoiding orders.  As terrible as the Dursleys were, they hadn’t quelled Harry’s rebellious fire.

 

Malfoy pouted.  “I thought my time here at Hogwarts would be different.”

 

 “If you wanted someone to order around, you shouldn’t have insulted Vincent and Gregory,” Parkinson jumped in.  “Though it’s amusing to see the two of them acting like a pair of squishy teddy bears.  Merlin knows what would have happened if they _did_ end up sorted in Slytherin.”

 

 “Malfoy would probably be intolerable,” Zabini replied lazily.  “Could you imagine?  He’d probably expect the rest of us to jump at his orders, the way that Crabbe and Goyle used to.”  Zabini shuddered delicately.  “Malfoy already thinks too highly of himself as is.”

 

 “I do not!” Malfoy sputtered.  “I act as befits my station.”  This caused a snort of amusement from Callidus and Zabini.

 

Parkinson hummed, a speculative expression on her face.  “Draco,” she said, drawing out his name.  “I always wondered - between you and Harry, who would you say has the higher station?”

 

Malfoy opened his mouth before snapping it shut, and looking at Harry, who looked back at him.  In fact, all the first years including Callidus were looking between Harry and Malfoy, wondering what the answer would be.  Harry cocked his head to the side, his expression expectant.  Everyone knew how highly Malfoy thought of himself, but everyone also knew how much Malfoy liked Harry.

 

 “I couldn’t say,” Malfoy said.  “It’s like comparing apples to pears.”

 

 “Come now,” Parkinson replied.  It was clear that Malfoy’s diplomatic answer annoyed her.  But Malfoy just shrugged and ignored her.

 

 “What did you need Hedwig for, anyway?” Harry asked Malfoy, changing the subject.  “You already have your own owl.”

 

 “I thought she might like the chance to send a letter,” Malfoy replied.

 

Harry’s expression was incredulous.  “You ordered me to let you use Hedwig because you thought she’d like to send a letter?  I can’t tell if you’re trying to be nice or just -” Harry gave Malfoy and odd look, unsure of how to finish the sentence.

 

Malfoy pinkened.  “Well, I did receive a letter from my father this morning.  I would have told you about it then, but someone -” Malfoy glared at Parkinson “-wouldn’t stop talking.”

 

 “You’re always getting letters from your parents,” Callidus sighed.  “We really don’t need to know every detail of how your parents spoil you.”

 

“It isn’t that!” Malfoy snapped at him before turning back to Harry.  “Do you remember when we met, how I said I spoke to my father about having a bill drafted up?  To protect witches and wizards from muggles?”

 

 “Erm.  Yeah?”  Harry replied.

 

 “Well, my father has been working on it,” Malfoy continued.  “Though he says he’d like to meet you, and speak about how those muggles had treated you.  He believes that using the influence of your name would sway public opinion in favour of the bill.  You could have an interview in the _Prophet_.  Everyone one would be talking about it.”  Malfoy’s eyes were glowing with excitement.  But Harry’s face had lost its colour.

 

 “Interview?  With the papers?”  Harry shook his head.  “I don’t want that kind of attention.  It’s already bad enough as it is.”

 

 “You don’t want the attention?” Malfoy said with disbelief.  Callidus rolled his eyes.

 

 “Have you been paying no attention to Harry at all since September, Malfoy?” Callidus asked.  “I’m surprised you call yourself his friend when you don’t even know that much about him.”

 

 “I know plenty about Harry,” Malfoy replied defensively.  “And this is for the best.  At least _I’m_ trying to get him away from those horrid muggles.”

 

Callidus scowled, while Malfoy’s eyes glittered with cold triumph.

 

 “Would it really get me away from the Dursl - my muggle relatives?”  Harry asked, his voice tinged with hope.

 

 “I’m sure of it,” Malfoy replied confidently.  “Once the wizarding world knows what happened to you, they’d never stand for it.  You can speak to my father over the holidays.  They’d be happy to have you over for Yule.  I can show you my room!  You’d love it.  We could spend the hols flying - I don’t have the latest racing broom, but we have a few decent ones in our broomshed.”  

 

 “Erm -” Harry looked over at Callidus before looking back at Malfoy.  “I don’t know.  I’ll think about it, I s’pose.”

 

But Malfoy, caught up in the idea, spent the rest of the evening prattling about how wonderful it would be.  He spoke of the grounds, the manor, his possessions until the rest of the first years were sighing with irritation, and departed for bed.


	20. Chapter 20

Late in November, Callidus had his regular monthly chat with Dumbledore.  Curiously, he hadn’t been able to sense Dumbledore’s magic this time, despite his increased ability to sense magic, but then Dumbledore explained that witches and wizards were able to hide their magic.  It was a helpful ability if one wanted to protect themselves from detection.  

 

Callidus had mentioned Malfoy’s conversation with Harry, and what little he had gleamed about the bill that Malfoy’s father was drafting.  That had quickly taken the twinkle of the of the headmaster’s eyes and Callidus could tell that Dumbledore had wanted to know more.  Perhaps the headmaster might have been on the brink of asking Callidus to find out more, but then, a sad smile had ghosted across his face, and Dumbledore swept the topic away, like crumbs off a table.

 

Still, Callidus could see that thoughts and machinations were being plotted behind those piercing blue eyes.

 

 “Do you think it’s a bad idea for Harry to visit the Malfoys over the holidays?” Callidus asked the headmaster. “From some of the things that Malfoy has let slip, their family strikes me as being rather fixated on blood status.”

 

Dumbledore’s expression was pensive.  He gazed at Callidus, as though debating how much to reveal.  “You know that Draco does not trust me?”

 

Callidus nodded, knitting his brow.  “He and his father both.  Though it’s clear that Malfoy parrots many of his father’s opinions.  In fact, it would be fair to say that most Slytherins don’t trust you.  Do you think the Malfoys would try and sway Harry’s opinions towards their line of thinking?”

 

 “I don’t doubt that they would try.”

 

 “Hmm.”  Callidus frowned.  “I can’t imagine that they would succeed.”

 

The headmaster raised his eyebrows.  “Oh?”

 

 “Harry’s stubborn,” Callidus said wryly.  “And he doesn’t crave the things that many other Slytherin’s crave - power, riches, admiration.  He’s never acted overawed by Malfoy’s displays of wealth.  And although he may seem oblivious, I think that being in Slytherin has helped him recognize manipulation.  Sometimes.  He doesn’t treat Malfoy any better than he treats anyone else.  I don’t think that Harry cares much about status.”

 

Dumbledore hummed thoughtfully.  

 

 “Do you think that any of this is related to Voldemort?” Callidus asked, unable to keep the worry from his voice.

 

“Many believe that he has been vanquished.  But Lucius Malfoy does subscribe to Voldemort’s ideologies,” Dumbledore replied.

 

Callidus spent the rest of that evening lost in thought.  It was difficult to escape his own sense of conflict.  Callidus had no love of muggles, but he knew that those who followed Voldemort’s ideals extended their hatred towards muggleborns and half-bloods.  Harry himself was a half-blood. Would he be in danger, in the company of someone like Lucius Malfoy?  No, that probably wasn’t it.  In all likelihood, someone like the Malfoy patriarch would see Harry as a tool to be used.  And that idea didn’t sit well with Callidus either.  

 

It was unnerving that Callidus’s information had bothered Dumbledore as much as it did.  The grandfatherly old man often seemed so in control and unruffled by everything.  What this meant was that whatever troubles that orbited Harry were very serious.  Callidus knew that the wizarding world was divided.  The factions that supported pureblood ideals were as strong as the factions that supported muggle and muggleborn rights.  Politics was a popular subject in the Slytherin House and one would have to be deaf to be ignorant of such matters.  Someone like Harry, with his celebrity status, could easily be used as a catalyst to sway public opinion one way or another.  But what path was the right one?  

 

As much as Callidus admired Dumbledore, that didn’t mean that his own beliefs aligned with the Headmasters.  In all honesty, he thought Dumbledore was too idealistic, and too willing to bend backwards in support of muggles.  The muggles that Callidus had known where horrible people.  The very thought of submitting to their muggle ways left a sour note in his mouth.  And hadn’t his mother always drilled the idea of wizarding pride in his head and heart?  Why should wizards have to give up their ways to accommodate muggles?  Callidus considered discussing the matter with Malfoy.  It was his father after all.  Callidus did spent more time in the blond boy’s company than anyone else (other than Harry).  But that didn’t mean that he felt comfortable speaking to Malfoy.  Jabbing at his sore spots was one thing - discussing serious matters was another.  Especially if the topic was personal rather than intellectual.

 

With the arrival of December came cloudy skies, and chilly weather.  Less and less time was spent outside in the Quad, and more time was spent within the walls of the castle.  Even Harry and Malfoy were reluctant to go out flying on weekends.  Fortunately, the dungeons were rather cozy (but that was likely due to the influence of Slughorn, who fussed and complained about the cold, and seemed to make it a personal project to make the dungeons as warm as possible.)  By this point of the year, life at Hogwarts had fallen into a familiar routine.  Not that Callidus had become complacent.  There was someone out there who was trying to harm him after all, but his top priority was still his grades.

 

Since the flying lesson incident, and the month long Slytherin-Gryffindor detention, things had been relatively peaceful between the two houses.  The intensity of the rivalry between the Slytherins and Gryffindors waxed and waned.  For most of the fall, conflict was minimal.  The idea of being forced into each other’s company was a strong deterrent from making too much mischief.  But that all changed in early December..

 

The Slytherins were at breakfast in the Great Hall.  Parkinson was making fun of a pair of Gryffindor and Ravenclaw prefects, and their relationship (“Did you see the way Penelope Clearwater was looking at Percy Weasley?  They keep making besotted cow eyes at one another.  Do they think they’re being subtle?  They’re about as subtle as a jarvey at high tea.”)  As usual, the owl post brought Malfoy a fresh batch of decadent treats from his mother.  The blond doled out the sweets like an king handing out favours (after keeping his favourite treats for himself, of course).  It was evident that he got as much pleasure from handing out the treats as he did from eating them.  But it was never a true act of generosity.  This was Slytherin, which meant it was a display of power.

 

Because the first years were busy begging Malfoy for scraps of sweets, all their eyes were on him.  Thus, when his hair started turning green, Malfoy found himself facing a crowd of bulging eyes, and slack-jawed mouths.  And the colour change wasn’t limited to just the hair on his head.  His eyebrows were turning green, as was the downy hair on his face and body.  Next was Greengrass and Bulstrode, followed by Zabini, and then the rest of the first years.  All of them except Nott.  Curiously, Nott was the only first year who hadn’t taken a shower in the morning.  And the green hair wasn’t just limited to the first years - in fact, the Weasley twins had managed to prank the majority of the Slytherins. 

 

As the Slytherins turned to look towards the Gryffindor Table, the Weasley twins had their arms flung over each other’s shoulders.  They wore blinding, proud grins on their faces.  The other Gryffindors didn’t bother to hide their loud guffaws.  Even the Hufflepuffs and Ravenclaws were laughing.  Malfoy was crimson with fury, his fists clenched so tight that his knuckles were white.  Greengrass (and many of the younger girls) were shrieking with dismay.  The older girls at least maintained their dignity, limiting their fury to a cold gleam in their eyes.  Harry was somewhere between bemused and amused.  And Callidus felt hot with embarrassment. 

 

As furious as Malfoy was, at least the grass-green colouring suited his pale skin.  Even Harry looked good with green hair - it seemed to match the emerald sheen of his eyes.  But Callidus wasn’t Malfoy or Harry.  Callidus had sallow skin and lank, greasy hair.  He looked like the washed up corpse of a merperson.  As if his regular appearance wasn’t bad enough.

 

Such an indignity called for revenge.  There was no question about it.  This was, after all, a matter of House pride.  The unsteady truce (between the first years, at least) was broken, and the rivalry between the two houses flared up with a burning intensity.  The Gryffindors would be made to pay.

 

To Professor Slughorn’s dismay, it began with potions.  Slughorn had gotten complacent about teaching the first years.  Aside from Neville Longbottom, potions class had been close to trouble-free.  But now, the Slytherins were determined to sabotage the Gryffindor potions.  With a common enemy, Callidus and Malfoy found themselves silently snickering as they attempted to toss extra bits of lionfish spines in the Gryffindor potions.  They didn’t care whether the Gryffindors noticed or not.  And if bits of lionfish spines ended up in their hair or robes, all the better.  It was an ingredient that was known to inflame the skin.

 

Harry just rolled his eyes, and shook his head.  His still-green hair looked like a tangled bunch of seagrass on his head, but Harry claimed to like the green.  To Harry, it was just another delightful aspect of magic.  Malfoy had managed to get a spine into Seamus Finnigan and Dean Thomas’s cauldron, causing their herbicide potion changed from yellow to a sickly-looking orange, and it began to overflow.  When Slughorn noticed, and waddled over to Finnigan and Thomas’s table in dismay, Malfoy took the opportunity to sabotage Lavender Brown and Parvati Patil’s potion as well.

 

When class was done, and the angry Gryffindor’s trotted out of the dungeons, Malfoy and Callidus couldn’t contain their laughter.  Who knew that that a newfound antagonism against the Gryffindors would bring them closer together?

 

 “Did you see their faces?” Malfoy chortled, bringing to mind the Gryffindor’s consternation and anger.

 

 “And Slughorn’s reaction?” Callidus added, his eyes sparkling with humour.  He recalled the distressed, red face of the Professor.  Slughorn’s walrus-like mustache kept twitching, and his forehead had beaded with sweat.  It was clear that Slughorn hadn’t worked so hard in a long time.

 

 “Was that really necessary?” Harry said, rolling his eyes yet again.

 

 “Yes.  Yes it was,” Malfoy said firmly.  “Come on, Harry.  Why do you have to be so priggish?”

 

 “I don’t mind pranks,” Harry replied defensively.  “But that doesn’t mean I want to ruin their grades.  We could always do something else - like - erm - something funny.”

 

 “Oh?  Do you have something in mind?” Malfoy asked, his pale eyebrows raised in interest.

 

Harry bit his lower lip, as his eyebrows furrowed in thought.  “No,” Harry admitted.  “But we could think of something.”

 

Callidus and Malfoy shared a quick glance before turning their attention back to Harry.  “You’re right Harry,” Callidus agreed.  “We could - and should think of something.  Our repertoire of spells is rather limited as first years.  But I imagine the library is the perfect place to seek out ideas.”

 

Harry groaned.  “The library?”

 

Both Callidus and Malfoy were grinning.  “We could claim it’s research,” Malfoy said.

 

 “And it could have academic benefits,” Callidus mused.  “Really, it seems like the logical choice to me.”  It felt weird, for Callidus and Malfoy to be in accord.  Weird, but not necessarily bad.

 

Harry sighed heavily.  “You two need to work on your arguments.  I’m not grade obsessed, the way you are.  But I guess neither of you are leaving me a choice, are you?”  Harry’s lip quirked ruefully.

 

 “No, no choice,” Malfoy smirked.  

 

 “No choice at all,” Callidus chimed.

 

The trio spent more time in the library than ever.  This was due to the combination of bad weather and the desire to research magic that could be applied to pranks.  Harry, while not excited to spend time in the library, was at least complaisant about the whole matter.  Callidus found himself researching a whole range of potions that he had not otherwise considered.  Harry and Malfoy spent their time researching charms.

 

Granger was almost always in the library whenever Callidus went with Harry and Malfoy.  He usually gave her a discreet nod but otherwise, he tried to ignore her existence.  However, he would often stay at the library later than Harry or Malfoy, claiming the need for more research or studying.  And once the familiar faces had cleared out, he’d join Granger at her table.  There were intelligent people he could talk to in his own House, but despite that, he wanted to keep talking to Granger.  She was so passionate about knowledge, and her passion was infectious.  He didn’t have to worry about boring her, or dumbing down his thoughts for her.  She might still annoy him (sometimes), but curiously, he could also be himself around her.

 

Callidus and Granger also started discussing their academic progress.  The first topic they had broached was Transfigurations.  As a Slytherin, he was glad to know the progress of his rival.  But as a Slytherin, he was also dismayed by her remarkable academic prowess.  Callidus was doing quite well in all his classes, but to his horror, Granger was doing better.  Not in Potions, at least, but better in History, Transfigurations and maybe even Charms.  He felt a terrible mix of admiration and bitter jealousy.  There was no denying that Granger was very brilliant.

 

In a way, it was a bit discouraging.  He knew he worked hard in his classes, but after discovering how well Granger was doing, he would have to try harder.  It was true that his ultimate goal was to excel in Potions (and perhaps Defence, since it was related to the Dark Arts), but pushing himself to excel in all his other courses would provide a well rounded background.  It was nice to be good at one or two things, but it’d be better to be good at all things (excluding flying).

 

Callidus and Granger had been discussing their current lesson in Herbology (the care of Asphodel), when Granger suddenly changed the topic.

 

  “Is it just a Slytherin thing to avoid Gryffindors?” Granger asked, her tone light, but her eyes vulnerable.  “I notice you only sit with me when most of the library has cleared out.”

 

Callidus looked up from the notes on the table to Granger’s face, startled by the question.  His eyes were wide and blank.  He wasn’t used to directness - that was more of Gryffindor trait rather than a Slytherin one.  His first instinct was to equivocate but the vulnerability in Granger’s clear brown eyes made his stomach twist with unease. 

 

 “None of the Slytherins speak to Gryffindors,” Callidus said.  It was true enough.

 

 “Harry Potter does,” Granger replied pointedly.  “I’ve seen him speaking to Seamus.  And since Seamus is friends with Dean, Harry has spoken to Dean as well.  And he’s spoken to Neville too.  I saw Harry helping Neville after he tripped once, outside greenhouse one.  And when Lavender and Parvati wanted to speak to him about You-Know-Who, Harry spoke to them too.”

 

 “I’m not Harry,” Callidus muttered.  Granger had a tendency to run off at the mouth, and today proved to be no exception.

 

 “I know you’re not Harry,” Granger said with touch of exasperation.  “But my point is that if Harry speaks to Gryffindors, then what’s stopping the rest of you Slytherins from speaking to us?  Surely this isn’t just about the rivalry between the two Houses.  I mean, I know it likely dates back to the time of the founders, but we have more agency than to simply hate one another on principle, don’t we?  I can understand the benefit of friendly rivalry, but anyone with a smidgen of intelligence would have to be aware of the senselessness of blind prejudice.”

 

 “That’s -” Callidus shook his head.  Once again, Granger was starting to grating on his nerves, with her non-stop prattling.  But unlike before, he knew more about her.  She may have had the bad habit of blathering.  But she was also kind, intelligent and interesting.

 

 “That’s not what I mean,” Callidus said, unable to help sounding defensive.  “Harry is the Boy Who Lived.  He’s a well known figure in the wizarding world.  This gives him immense leeway to act as he wishes.  Yes, I know he still faces consequences for his actions - none of us are going to forget that month-long detention anytime soon.  But regardless of that, Harry is able to get away with things that the rest of us couldn’t, just because he’s Harry Potter.”

 

Granger opened her mouth before snapping it shut.  She knitted her brow, and he knew that she was contemplating his words. 

 

 “So you’re saying that this is a matter of celebrity?  Or -”

 

 “Not celebrity, per se.  More a matter of one’s standing relative to others,” Callidus explained.

 

Granger frowned.  “Status.  So Harry ranks above the rest of you, and you are -” Granger gave him a look.  “Somewhere below.  Far enough below that you’re afraid of stepping out of line.”

 

Callidus winced.  It was true enough - he was hardly at the bottom.  Being friends with both Harry and Malfoy lent him a bit of status.  Granger was giving him a searching look.  Sensing his discomfort, she changed the topic back to school work.  He had never felt so relieved to be discussing Herbology (and its relation to Astronomy).

 

He left the library earlier than usual, unable to concentrate.  His thoughts kept returning to Granger’s words.  He didn’t really want to admit it, but he liked her as a person, even if she had a tendency to be a bossy know-it-all.  And while he wasn’t exactly afraid to step out of line, he was most certainly uneasy about it.  If the Slytherins knew what he was doing, they would ostracize him.  That alone was bad enough, but it would probably also come with a heap of cruel mockery and malicious pranks.  

 

On the other hand, he knew that Harry would stand by him.  And if Harry was on his side, then Malfoy might also be, albeit grudgingly, though Malfoy would delight in mocking him.  Maybe he should take the risk to be her friend.  Well, ‘friend’ might be too strong of a word.  An acknowledged acquaintance might be a better descriptor.  He figured that he was clever enough to be able to weather any ridicule.  And even if it was difficult to explain, the idea of befriending Granger was appealing.  The Slytherins might find it foolish to associate with someone without any explicit benefits, but to Callidus, having an academically focused friend was a benefit in and of itself.  True, he could always reach out and try and befriend a Ravenclaw, but everyone knew that Granger was smarter than any of them. 

 

But now, there was also intensified rivalry between Gryffindors and Slytherins.  Openly speaking with Granger might not have been so bad a month ago, but after the Weasley prank, it would be seen as consorting with the enemy.  It was with these thoughts that Callidus made his way down to the Slytherin dungeons.  Before he could utter the password to enter the Slytherin common room, a voice emerged behind him.

 

 “Prince and Granger.  Who would have imagined that you had a thing for mudbloods?”

 

Callidus whirled around, his heart a sickening gallop.  His eyes narrowed as Greengrass stepped out of the shadows.  There was a look of cruel satisfaction in Greengrass’s grey eyes.

 

 “I don’t have a thing for Granger,” Callidus ground out.

 

 “Oh?” Greengrass replied slyly.  “The pair of you looked rather cozy in the library.  All alone at the table.”

 

Callidus felt the blood leave his face.  He had been seen.  “I was helping her to study,” he said, his voice low, but calm, despite his racing heart.

 

 “You?” Greengrass let out a tinkling laugh, sounding aristocratic and malicious.  Callidus could imagine her practicing that laugh, making sure to create the right effect. 

 

 “You really expect me to believe that you were helping that swot?”  Greengrass’s lips curled upwards, but her eyes glittered with frost.  “More like she was helping you.  Don’t think I don’t know of how all the Professors sing her praises.  We Slytherins make it our business to know things.  You think you’re so smart.  But maybe she’s been helping you all along.  Weren’t the two of you paired in detention?”

 

Greengrass’s words stung more than Callidus wanted to admit.  He knew that his academic results had nothing to do with Granger’s aid, but a rumour like that sounded all too believable.  He knew he hadn’t been spotted in the library with Granger in sight of any Slytherins (aside from Greengrass).  But he had been seen by Ravenclaws and some Hufflepuffs.  Unlike Granger, Callidus didn’t feel the need to shove his intelligence in everyone’s face.  Granger’s pushy personality meant that she had a reputation for being a walking storehouse of knowledge.  Losing his intellectual credibility sounded almost as bad (or worse) than associating with a Gryffindor.  

 

 “Believe what you want,” Callidus sneered.  He turned away from her, and spat out the password to the common rooms.  His mind was too much of a mess to think of some cutting remark.  Greengrass followed close behind him, and he could practically feel her smirking at the back of his head.  As he headed toward the first year’s usual spot, he was startled by the sight that greet him.  He froze in place, taking in the scene.

 

At their usual sofa, Malfoy was reclining across the cushions, his head resting on Parkinson’s lap.  She was stroking his hair with one hand, while Malfoy’s eyes were closed, like Bulstrode’s pampered cat.  At Parkinson’s feet sat a cross-legged Harry, leaning against the edge of the sofa.  Parkinson’s other hand was carding through his messy black hair.  And just like Malfoy, Harry looked like he was about to melt from the bliss.  Neither boys opened their eyes when Callidus arrived.  Parkinson looked up at him, and her lip curled into a lazy smile.

 

 “Draco, Harry, are your headaches any better?” Parkinson asked, peering down at the blond on her lap.

 

 “Almost,” Malfoy said, while Harry just hummed.

 

 “Not going to say hello to Cal?” Parkinson asked craftily.  Harry and Malfoy opened their eyes.  Harry tilted his head forward and grinned widely, while Malfoy raised a blond eyebrow.

 

 “Hi Cal!” Harry said happily before leaning his head back against Pansy’s legs and closing his eyes.  “Oh Merlin, Pansy.  That’s so relaxing.  Don’t stop.”

 

 “Unfortunately for you, Prince, Pansy doesn’t have an extra hand,” Malfoy drawled.  Parkinson wrinkled her nose.  Callidus couldn’t tell if it was because of the idea of having an extra hand, or because of the idea of touching him.  But she said nothing.

 

 “Come sit,” Harry said, patting the floor next to him.  Greengrass slipped around Callidus and sat at the chairs opposite to the sofa.  In that moment, Callidus realized that all the first year Slytherins were sitting together.  His glance swept across Davis, and he noticed that there was a hard look in her eyes.  Could she be jealous of Parkinson?

 

 “Finally joining us, Daphne?” Parkinson said, flicking a glance at Callidus before looking at blonde girl.

 

Greengrass hummed.  “Well, after what those Gryffindors did, we Slytherins really need to look out for one another,” Greengrass said innocently.  Her words were directed to Parkinson, but Callidus knew that they were for him.  He felt like all his innards were shrivelling.

 

Refusing to let Greengrass affect him, Callidus perched himself on the armrest of the sofa.  There was no way that he’d sit in a position lower than Greengrass.  He didn’t want her looking down on him.  The rest of the night was spent trying to pretend that the situation was perfectly normal.


	21. Chapter 21

Callidus hated the idea that anything Greengrass could say would affect him, but in the following days, there was no denying that he was affected by their confrontation.  He had started to warm towards Granger, but now, he retreated back into coldness.  In the library, he would pretend that he had failed to notice her.  He also spent more and more time in the Slytherin dungeons rather than the library.  Through it all, he felt terrible.  His chest ached with the heavy weight of misery and guilt.

 

It was made worse by Greengrass’s knowing smirks.  He had to suffer Greengrass’s presence with increased frequency because she and Nott spent more time with the other first years.  She seemed to delight in trying to make him as miserable as possible.  To Callidus’s consternation, she succeeded in her efforts.  It was one thing to combat her verbal gibes - that was easy enough.  But there was no way for him to fight her unspoken words.  Callidus heartily loathed the way she would raise her eyebrows, or smile maliciously.  In the Great Hall, she would dart glances at Granger, and then look at Callidus, giving him a look heavy with meaning.

 

But what he hated most was Granger’s reaction.  The bushy-haired girl had noticed Callidus’s coldness towards her.  Her initial response had been confusion in the form of puzzled glances.  This soon turned into wounded looks that made him feel like monster.  Her brown eyes had held such a deep and undeserved pain, like a crup that had been abandoned in heavy rain.  He longed to sit down with her in the library and explain his situation.  But then, Greengrass would raise her blonde eyebrows at him, and Callidus would continue with his uncaring facade.  After a week of this, her hurt looks became angry ones, and Callidus knew that the anger was well deserved.

 

The situation ruined his focus.  In class, he barely heard a word from the professors’ lectures.  When he attempted to read, the words on the page were little more than meaningless scribbles.  Furthermore, his appetite had vanished.

 

He was in the Great Hall for breakfast, listlessly picking at his food when to his surprise, an owl swooped in front of him, dropping an envelope on his plate.  He blinked in bewilderment, picking up the envelope which was sealed with an intricate wax crest with an ornate ‘M’ while beside him, Harry had received a near-identical looking envelope.  Several other Slytherins received similar envelopes as well.

 

 “Finally,” Malfoy said, drawing out the word.  “I was wondering when they’d get around to sending out the invitations.”

 

 “Invitations?”  Harry echoed, as he opened the envelope.  He pulled out a card of beautiful embossed parchment.

 

 “Yes, the Malfoys traditionally throw several parties in the winter,” Malfoy explained.  “One to celebrate Yule and the Solstice.  And one before the New Year.  Though the Yule celebration is usually reserved for those close to the Malfoy family.  You’ll come, right Harry?”

 

 “Erm - I’m not going to be interviewed by the  _ Prophet _ am I?” Harry asked uneasily.

 

 “Merlin, no!” Malfoy replied. “Spontaneous interviews with the press are never a good idea.  My father will wish to speak to you though.”

 

 “Oh - er - I s’pose I’ll go,” Harry said.  

 

 “What about you, Prince?” Malfoy asked.

 

 “I’ll have to think on it,” Callidus replied.  The idea of going to a party made him a bit anxious and he knew that he’d have to speak to Dumbledore first.  Lucius Malfoy had known him from when he was still Severus.  If they had gone to school together, then the elder Malfoy might recognize him, so attending the party would be an immense risk.  After all, Dumbledore had stressed the importance of keeping his identity a secret.  

 

Despite Callidus’s claims that he would consider the invitation, his mind drifted back to his problems with Granger.  It bothered Callidus to have upset Granger, but it also bothered him that he even cared about the whole issue.  She was just one Gryffindor.  Shouldn’t he have let it go by now?

 

Callidus found his concentration faltering, evening during his sessions with Wystan.  

 

 “You really shouldn’t be brewing in that state, you know,” Wystan had said, green eyes warm with understanding.  “I don’t think you’re even brewing an oculus potion anymore.  If you’re not careful, you’ll probably mess up your little personal project as well.”

 

 “What?  What are you talking about?” Callidus replied, looking down at the liquid in the cauldron.  He frowned when he realized it looked more like lake sludge than like sparkling green fluid.  As for his ‘personal project,’ Callidus had promised to modify a certain potion that Harry and Malfoy could use to prank the Gryffindors.  Of course, he didn’t reveal this to Wystan.  He wasn’t sure how the older boy would react (and whether he would be reported to Slughorn, or worse, Dumbledore), though Wystan hardly seemed like the sort that would tattle.

 

Wystan snorted and shook his head.  “What’s been bothering you, Callidus?  No -” Wystan held up a hand, “Don’t try and deny it.  It’s written all over your face.  You might think you’re being subtle, but you really aren’t.  Most first years aren’t that good at masking their emotions - though you’re still doing a better job than any Gryffindor, Hufflepuff or Ravenclaw.”

 

Callidus’s brow creased.  It wasn’t something he was comfortable talking about.  And as much as he liked Wystan, it wasn’t in his nature to pour his heart out.  It was one thing talking to Harry or Dumbledore.  Dumbledore had been a Gryffindor, and Harry had many Gryffindor-ish tendencies, and Gryffindors were generally seen as trustworthy and transparent.  But as nice as Wystan was, he was still a Slytherin.

 

Callidus ended up equivocating, though it was clear from Wystan’s expression that the older boy knew Callidus was avoiding the issue.  But Callidus was glad that Wystan didn’t keep pushing the matter.  As Callidus cleared up the mess of his failed potion, Wystan changed the topic to something rather more interesting.

 

 “I found out what that field of mind magic was called,” Wystan informed Callidus.  “That one you were inquiring about.”

 

Callidus looked up from scrubbing his cauldron with interest.  “Oh?”

 

Wystan flashed his white teeth in a grin.

 

 “Are you expecting a favour for this information?” Callidus asked.  It was a typical Slytherin exchange.

 

Wystan shook his head, still smiling.  “What do you take me for?  Would I ever do something so unsubtle?”

 

Callidus sighed.  “No, you’d rather just rack up unspoken favours and let people’s sense of guilt do the work.  Though I’m not sure that most of the Snakes feel guilt.  I guess you throw people off balance with your faux Hufflepuff personality.”

 

Wystan’s eyes crinkled with amusement.  “I try and make use of tactics that work for me in the long run.  But since I can see that you’re fast losing your patience, mind reading is called Legilimency.  Of course, now you’re wondering: How do I protect myself from such an invasion of my most sacred personal space?  That particular skill would be called Occlumency.  As for where one can learn about either Legilimency or Occlumency - unfortunately, I can’t help you with that.  You’d need to have the right connections who can lend you the right books.  Or know someone who is willing to personally teach you.”

 

Wystan’s information intrigued Callidus.  He was more certain than ever that the Headmaster was capable of Legilimency, and he yearned to be able to learn it himself.  Who wouldn’t want to have such power in their hands?  

 

Fortunately, Callidus soon received another note to meet Dumbledore.  The old man seemed to have an intuitive sense of knowing when Callidus had information to impart.  That or he had other unspoken magical methods for rooting out information.  Callidus wasn’t sure whether the former or latter was more likely.

 

 “You look troubled, my boy,” Dumbledore said, as Callidus walked up to his immense desk.

 

 “So I’ve been told,” Callidus grumbled.

 

 “Do you wish to talk about it?” the headmaster asked gently.

 

Callidus shook his head, his lips twisted downwards.  It felt too personal.  And although Dumbledore had claimed that they were friends, the headmaster felt like someone who was on a different plane than other witches and wizards.  Furthermore, it was uncomfortable to talk about feelings.  That was such a  _ girl _ thing.  Though admittedly, he used to talk to Lily about his feelings.

 

Callidus could have spoken to Harry.  Harry was just as good of a listener as Lily, and he had an innate kindness.  But there was one problem.  Harry, like Lily, would have wanted to get himself involved and Callidus didn’t want anyone else solving his problems.  Especially not something as embarrassing as caring about a Gryffindor.

 

So, Callidus steered the conversation towards other matters.

 

 “I received an invitation to one of the winter galas hosted by the Malfoys,” Callidus informed Dumbledore.  “Harry as well.”

 

 “I noticed,” Dumbledore replied.

 

 “I suppose you’ll tell me it’s best not to go?”

 

 “Do you want to go?”  The headmaster’s white eyebrows raised.

 

 “I -” Callidus began, before shutting his mouth.  In truth, he hadn’t given the matter much thought.  He assumed that Dumbledore would tell him that for his own safety, it was best not to go and Callidus’s brow furrowed as he considered how he felt about attending the party.  His feelings turned out to be mixed.  He wasn’t keen on the idea of a fancy party, populated by the rich and influential - not as an eleven year old, with few achievements under his belt.  Callidus wanted to prove himself first.  Like so many others, he wanted admiration and positive regard.  Attending the party would require purchasing dress robes, and figuring out what to do about his appearance (if it was even possible to improve upon his unfortunate features.)  It would require being surrounded by strangers, and making sure not to give himself away.

 

On the other hand, he didn’t want to abandon Harry, to Malfoy and his ilk.  Callidus had been there, at Diagon Alley, and he had seen first hand how people reacted to the Boy Who Lived.  Without help, Harry would be swallowed alive.

 

 “I want to go,” Callidus said softly. “If Harry goes, I want to go.”

 

Callidus’s black eyes met the headmaster’s blue ones.  Dumbledore had his elbows resting on his desk, and his straight fingers entwined in front of him.  

 

 “Unless you mean to stop Harry from going?” Callidus asked.  “Will you?”

 

Dumbledore hummed.  “I believe it would be best if neither of you went.  I may not be able to assure your safety if either of you step off the grounds, and there are many who would wish to hurt Harry.”

 

Callidus nodded.  Most of the wizarding world was aware that Harry was in Slytherin - with students writing home to their parents about the Sorting back in September, there was no way to stem the flow of gossip.  In some ways, this alleviated the danger - those who believed in pureblood ideology would assume that Harry was on their side, and be less likely to hurt him; but on the other hand, it created risks as well.  Allies who might have stood by him would suspect him as a Slytherin.

 

Callidus ended leaving Dumbledore’s office feeling neither better nor worse (though he later realized that he forgot to bring up Legilimency.)  Assuming that the headmaster was taking care of the whole matter, Callidus tried to steer his thoughts back to his schoolwork.  He attacked the subjects with a desperate intensity, reminding himself over and over of how important it was for him to reach his goals, to prove himself, to be the best.

 

The following day, Harry received a message from the headmaster at breakfast.

 

 “He doesn’t want me to go,” Harry said, as his eyes scanned the note.

 

 “Go to what?” Malfoy asked.

 

 “Your party,” Harry replied.

 

 “What?” Malfoy (and Parkinson, who was listening in) exclaimed.

 

 “Who doesn’t want you to go?” Malfoy asked, looking obdurate.

 

 “The headmaster.”

 

 “What does Dumbledore have to do with anything?” Parkinson wailed.  “He can’t stop you!  The party wouldn’t be the same without you!”

 

Malfoy shot her an offended look, before turning back to Harry.  “What does he say?  Why doesn’t he want you to go?”

 

 “I can think of several reasons why Dumbledore wouldn’t want the Boy Who Lived at a Malfoy party,” Zabini drawled.

 

It took a moment for Malfoy to comprehend Zabini’s meaning.  “He thinks we can’t protect our guests?” Malfoy sputtered, glaring at the Head Table with a mix of offended sensibilities and anger. “Just wait until my father hears about this!”

 

True to his word, Malfoy wrote a letter to his father, full of sharply crossed ‘t’s,’ aggressively dotted ‘i’s,’ and hot indignation.  The letter was sent off with Hedwig (since Harry eventually agreed that yes, Hedwig needed the chance to spread her wings), even if it offended Malfoy’s proud eagle owl.  This led to a long exchange between the Malfoy patriarch and Dumbledore, with the result being that Dumbledore agreed to let Callidus and Harry go to the fete, so long the pair of them were accompanied by a suitable chaperone.  The chaperone (they later discovered) was the dour Professor McGonagall, who looked as displeased by the notion as the trio of boys.  Callidus would also need to be disguised.

 


	22. Chapter 22

Christmas holidays drew nearer and nearer.  Christmas catalogues were shared between the students, so that presents could be ordered (for those not permitted to go to Hogsmeade), and their was an air of bubbling festivity.  Callidus himself had taken a look at the catalogues, but he was aware that his own budget was tight, unlike many of the other Slytherins.  Anything he ordered out of a catalogue struck him as being rather impersonal.  Not that he was so sentimental that he felt the need to find the ‘perfect’ gift, but all the same, he wanted to do something worthwhile for his friends.

 

Slughorn had come by the Slytherin dungeons with a sign-up sheet for those who would be staying at Hogwarts over the holidays.  Both Callidus and Harry put their names down.  Harry kept discussing all the things he wanted to do over the break (“We can build a snow fort, and try and find the kitchens, and look for more secret passages, and maybe plan some fun pranks”) until Malfoy felt so left out that he signed himself up to stay at Hogwarts as well.  After all, he’d be able to see his parents at the party that they were throwing, and the elder Malfoys could always send him his mountain of presents by owl post.

 

The impending holidays provided a distraction from the oppressive gloom of Callidus’s unhappiness.  He found his eyes drawn to Granger, not because she was anything desirable (or all that pretty) to look at, but because she somehow managed to convey a quiet dignity, despite her isolation.  Her pride could be seen in the straight-line of her spine, and the high tilt of her chin, that spoke of her quiet courage in the face of her cruel peers.  It disturbed Callidus to know that he was now one amongst those cruel peers - someone who had rejected her because of some trivial differences.  If anything, he was worse.  The others hadn’t taken the time to get to know her.  Callidus had gotten to know her, and found that he liked her, and pushed her away all the same.

 

 “Are you upset about that person that’s trying to hurt you?” Harry whispered to him in Potions, when he saw Callidus absently grinding the ingredients with glassy black eyes drifting towards the distance.

 

Callidus blinked rapidly and looked towards his friend.  “What?”

 

 “You’re grinding the Standard Ingredient into dust.  And you’ve been looking terrible lately.  Don’t worry, we’ll find that person who’s trying to hurt you.  We can spend the hols keeping an eye on Quiver.”

 

 “What are you talking about, Harry?” Callidus asked in confusion.

 

 “Huh - you’re really out of it Cal.  Are we putting too much pressure on you for our -” (here, Harry lowered his voice) “- prank against the Gryffindors?”

 

Callidus shook his head. “No, no - the potion for the prank should be easy enough to modify.  I’ve been working on it during my lab sessions with Wystan.  It just needs to sit for another fifteen hours, and it should be done.  But where do you and Malfoy plan to apply it?  It needs to contact their skin to work.”

 

Harry grinned, his green eyes alight with mischief.  “Their table in the Great Hall,” he whispered.

 

Callidus felt a twinge of guilt, knowing that Granger would be affected alongside all the other Gryffindors.  But he shoved the emotions aside.  This was a matter of Slytherin self-respect, which meant that the Gryffindors couldn’t be allowed to get away with turning their hair green.  While the greenness may have faded, they still had to dole out their retribution against the Gryffindors.  After all, no slight against the House of Snakes should ever go unpunished.

 

Since Harry and Malfoy were busy plotting the intricacies of how to get the prank potion coated on the Gryffindor Table, Callidus spent a great deal of the weekend on his own in the Slytherin dungeons.  The desire to prank the Gryffindors warred against his desire to keep a clean academic record, and good grades.  He pushed himself harder than ever, knowing that in several topics, Granger was his superior.  No amount of guilt was enough to convince him to set aside his personal goals, but the guilt still hindered his concentration.

 

Though Callidus knew that Harry and Malfoy were occupied, it was still surprising to find himself alone with Parkinson on the couch at the first year’s usual spot.  Callidus had been diligently researching an obscure aspect of Charms theory (in hopes of earning some bonus marks on his essay), when Parkinson flopped down on the sofa next to him.  He glanced up at her, before returning to his essay.

 

  “You know, I always thought you were morose before,  _ Cal _ , but these past two weeks have proved me wrong.  I didn’t even know a person could possibly look as wretched as you do,” she said, in a very matter-of-fact way.  “Your hair looks like a dead animal, and you’ve got the complexion of an inferi.”

 

 “How nice of you to notice,  _ Pans _ ,” Callidus said smoothly, not looking up from his research.  At this point, he was accustomed to Parkinson’s caustic barbs, and her dramatic tendencies towards hyperboles.  Though she could tear a person apart with her tongue, most of the Slytherins knew that she had a caring heart.  It was just that she preferred to keep her heart well hidden away under layers, and layers of sharp, cutting words.

 

 “It doesn’t seem quite right for a Snake to be so miserable,” Parkinson continued.  “It’s almost an affront.”

 

 “You think I’m an affront.”  He looked up at Parkinson and his voice was silky, bordering on dangerous. 

 

Parkinson brushed off the comment, with a casual gesture sweeping gesture of her hands.  “You know that’s not what I mean,  _ Cal _ .  But really, you’re a Slytherin.  Don’t you remember what being a Slytherin means?”

 

Callidus arched a black eyebrow.  

 

Parkinson rolled her eyes.  “It means going for what you want.”  She looked down at her nails, examining them with casual care.  “And it’s obvious that you’re not trying.  And no, I don’t think drowning yourself in books and homework is what you’re  _ truly _ after.  If anything, it seems like you’re trying to deny yourself that something -” She glanced slyly towards him “- or someone, that you want.”

 

Callidus scowled.  “What would you know?  Are you claiming you have everything that you want?”

 

Parkinson met his eyes, and there was a flicker of something that he couldn’t quite read.  “No,” she admitted.  “I don’t have everything I want.  But I’m here, aren’t I?  I wouldn’t be here if I didn’t think Slytherin would give me my best chance.  We all have our own ambitions.”

 

 “And what can an indulged, pretty pureblood like you even lack?” Callidus sneered, knowing that he was being harsh, but not caring.  The conversation was uncomfortable, and Parkinson had a way of sometimes being too perceptive.  He didn’t want his troubles to be revealed to the light of day.

 

Parkinson’s dark eyes hardened.  “You think I’m just some silly gossip don’t you?  Don’t you ever wonder what it means, to always have to be watching others?  To always have to pay attention to everything?  There’s never a moment when I can truly lower my guard.  Being a pureblood doesn’t mean that we have it easy.  You probably wouldn’t survive a day in my home.  Not all of us had lives as neat and tidy as Draco does.”

 

 “You wouldn’t have survived a day in mine either,” Callidus replied darkly.

 

Parkinson’s hard eyes softened at his words.  “No.  I imagine not.”  She looked away from him, towards one of the lake-bottom windows.  The two of them fell into an odd silence.  Callidus looked back down at his homework, but the words were incomprehensible, and his concentration was lost.

 

 “Sometimes our desires are at war,” Callidus said, breaking the silence.  “One thing I want might oppose another thing I want.”

 

Parkinson shrugged.  “So try and get as much as you can.  Or figure out what you want more.”  She turned towards him again.  “It’s tiring, having to look at your miserable face.  It offends my delicate sensibilities.”  A corner of her lips quirked upwards.  “You’re not alone, you know.  Not all of us will turn against you.  I, for one, wouldn’t complain, so long as you provide some delicious bits of gossip.”  Parkinson smirked, and then stood up.

 

 “All I’ve seen of you so far is a Ravenclaw,  _ Cal, _ ” Parkinson said, looking down at his textbooks and parchment.  “I’d like to think that there’s a Snake, somewhere under all that swotty-ness.”  With that, she sauntered off towards the girls dormitory, leaving Callidus alone with his thoughts.

 

Over the next few days, Parkinson’s words echoed in Callidus’s mind.  What did he really want?  He had been expending so much energy trying to run away from his feelings of guilt that he was more aware of what he didn’t want, rather than what he actually wanted.  The idea of befriending Granger was certainly appealing.  There was no other intellect amongst the first years that rivaled hers.  Even Malfoy, who was rather clever, wasn’t necessarily keen on discussing theory and academic details.  But first, he would have to actually talk to her.

 

Unfortunately, Callidus couldn’t find the opportunity to speak to Granger because he found himself caught up in Harry and Malfoy’s prank against the Gryffindors.  Initially, he had no intention of doing more than brewing them the potion, but Harry and Malfoy cajoled him into helping them apply it.  The trio was ambitious - just as the Weasley twins prank had affected nearly all of the Slytherin house, so too did the trio want to affect as many Gryffindors as they could.  They debated letting a few of the other first years in on their plan.  But in the end, Malfoy argued against it, and Harry and Callidus relented.  (“It’ll steal our glory,” Malfoy claimed, to which, Harry rolled his eyes.)

 

So, a few days before the Christmas holidays, the three boys watched with bated breaths, to see the results of their hard work and planning.  The students were in the in the Great Hall for breakfast, most of them discussing the recent snowfall, that blanketed the grounds in white, or the Weasley twin’s latest mischief which involved bewitching snowballs to chase Quirrell around.  The poor owls were struggling against the harsh weather.  And as usual, Parkinson was full of gossip.

 

 “So it seems like Wystan finally broke up with his girlfriend,” Parkinson said, peeking over at the seventh year Slytherins.  “It was rather overdue - Wystan has been looking restless for the past month.  Apparently, the breakup was all very neat and tidy though, and now they’re the best of friends.” (This last bit was dripping with mockery). “I suppose it won’t be long until someone new is throwing themselves at his feet.  Disgusting really.”

 

 “Jealous?” Greengrass asked, nudging Parkinson playfully.

 

 “Of the girls?  No.  Of Wystan’s charms?  Yes.  I’d have half of Hogwarts at my feet if I had that much charm,” Parkinson replied flippantly.

 

 “He’ll be graduating soon.  There’ll be a void,” Zabini murmured thoughtfully.

 

 “And you think you’ll be the one to fill it?” Greengrass asked, her delicate blonde brows raised.

 

Zabini gave her a lazy smile in reply which left Greengrass flushing (and Nott scowling).

 

 “How long is the delay?” Malfoy whispered to Callidus, leaning behind Harry to do so.

 

 “Half-an-hour or so.  Enough time to get most of them,” Callidus replied.   The trio looked towards the Gryffindor table with interest.  

 

Ronald Weasley was busy stuffing as much food as he could in his face, and it was admittedly a bit frightening, to see that volume of food fitting into one person.  Seamus Finnigan and Dean Thomas were elbowing each other and laughing about something.   Lavender Brown and Parvati Patil were touching each other’s hair (for whatever reason). Granger was seated at the end of the table, not speaking to anyone (and in fact, was reading a book). Callidus knew there was a chance she’d be unaffected, since they had applied more potion at the middle of the table than the end.  Their main targets were the Weasley twins after all, and the twins were being their usual, trouble-making selves, tossing food at the other Gryffindors at the table with quick, flicks of their wrists.

 

Parkinson’s words faded to a droning buzz as the three of them watched the spread of the potion.

 

 “It’s working!” Malfoy hissed gleefully.  Harry was trying to muffle his laughs.  It started from the middle of the Gryffindor table, spreading outwards.  The potion was absorbed through the skin, and its effects were that it caused the victims to stick to other people (or animals), so long as they touched skin, hair or fur. 

 

 “Look!  One twin has his hand stuck on the other twin’s face!” Malfoy said, his grey eyes bright.

 

 “Everyone’s hair is starting to get tangled,” Callidus chortled.  “Look at the girls!  They’re starting to notice!”

 

 “Oh Merlin -” Malfoy’s words were broken by his guffaws.  “Weasel’s hand brushed against Finnigan’s.  They look like they’re holding hands!”

 

The Gryffindors were in fact tugging and pulling away from each other, unable to understand why they were stuck (except Granger, who was in fact unaffected, and had leapt away from the table, clutching her book close to her, and a few of the seventh years at the other end of the table).  Already a boisterous bunch, the more the Gryffindors moved, they more they ended up tangled, through accidental swipes of their hands, or the sweep of long hair.  Soon, all eyes of the Great Hall were on the Gryffindors, and at the center of it all were the Weasley twins, tussling with each other (and the other third years around them).  There were squawks, and screams, and yelps.  Cries of “Stop pulling my hair!” and “Get your hands off me!” and “Oww!  That’s my skin!”

 

To Callidus and Malfoy, vengeance had never tasted so sweet.  Harry was amused, but Callidus could hear him say: “I hope they don’t hurt themselves.”  The Slytherins were openly pointing and laughing, and even the Ravenclaws and Hufflepuffs were giggling.  The Gryffindors were red-faced, and too hot-headed to calm themselves, and when one of them called out “Stop!” two more would be pulling, and it was chaos all over again.

 

Parkinson and Greengrass where shrieking with glee, while Nott was nearly doubled over with laughter.

 

 “Merlin!  Look at Percy Weasley!  He’s as twisted up as a ribbon!” Parkinson exclaimed.

 

 “Cormac McLaggen,” Bulstrode chortled, causing the first years to look towards the older boy, whose face was nearly purple with anger, looking as though he was about to burst several veins.

 

Dumbledore and the other Professors were insisting on order, and it wasn’t until Dumbledore’s wand trumpeted loudly, shooting spirals of yellow and orange lights that the Gryffindors paused and looked towards the Head Table.

 

 “Now that I have your attention, I suggest that all of you that are affected should move as little as possible, and stay close to one another to minimize tugging.  Madam Pomfrey should be here soon, and we’ll see if we can get you all out of this tangle.”  Dumbledore’s eyes sparkled with amusement as he said this last bit.

 

As the Gryffindors awkwardly bunched together, Malfoy whispered: “How long is the potion supposed to last?”

 

 “‘Till about supper, thereabouts.  Unless Pomfrey or Slughorn find a cure, but I don’t think they will in time,” Callidus replied quietly.

 

The three other Houses were cleared out of the Great Hall, but as they were leaving, Callidus noticed that the Weasley twins were following them with their eyes.  If Callidus had been in their situation, he knew that he’d be angry.  But instead, the twins were wearing speculative expressions.

 

 “Did you see that?” Callidus whispered to Harry once they were out of the Great Hall.

 

 “The twins?  Yeah.  D’you reckon they know?” Harry replied.

 

 “I have a feeling that they do.” Callidus wasn’t sure if that was a good thing or a bad thing.

 

In the days that followed, all anyone could talk about was the prank against the Gryffindors.  To the trio’s delight, Pomfrey and Slughorn hadn’t managed to unstick the Gryffindors, and the mass of them (except a few first years and seventh years at the end of the table) had been stuck together all through to the end of supper, looking miserable and uncomfortable.  All except the Weasley twins who treated it as one big joke, and were actually  _ trying _ to make themselves stick to as many of the other Gryffindors as possible.  

 

Malfoy’s expression appeared to be set to a permanent smirk.  And although the rest of the school didn’t know the culprits, all of Slytherin House was aware that credit for the prank fell upon Callidus, Harry and Malfoy.  Fortunately, no one in the Slytherin House would betray one of their own, so the trio’s identities were well protected.  Riding the high of their success, Callidus was able to put Granger from his mind.  So, when the holidays finally arrived, Callidus realized that he hadn’t spoken to Granger at all, and that nagging feeling of guilt returned.

 

The Great Hall was decorated for the holidays, with mistletoe and holly decking the walls.  Hagrid had brought in twelve enormous Christmas trees (“They’re bigger than the ones at Malfoy Manor!” Malfoy had said, looking impressed, for once.)  The trees seemed to sparkle, decorated with little icicles, and small, glowing candles.

 

The rest of the Slytherin first years returned home for the holidays, and most of the Slytherin dungeons had cleared out.  When the other students were gone, Callidus, Harry and Malfoy became aware that the Weasleys were also staying at Hogwarts through the break (and what’s more, the Weasley twins kept shooting them very obvious looks that promised trouble.)  At the moment, the twins were the only Weasleys at the Gryffindor table in the Great Hall, and they had their heads bent over a wide piece of parchment, looking down at it, and then up towards the Slytherin table.

 

 “They know,” Malfoy said, his grey eyes narrowed towards the mostly empty Gryffindor table.

 

 “What do you think they’ll do?” Callidus asked.  Because from the way that the twins were whispering and grinning, it was obvious that they were going to do something.

 

 “We need to find a way to protect ourselves,” Malfoy replied.  “Learn more spells.”  

 

 “And stick together,” Harry added.  “They look ready to eat us for breakfast.”

 

Malfoy frowned.  “We won’t let them get the best of us.  They’re just Gryffindors, after all.”

 

Callidus and Harry shot Malfoy a look.  Gryffindors or not, the Weasley twins were notorious for their pranking ability, and only a fool would underestimate them.  The trio left the Great Hall together, but they were followed by the sound of footsteps.

 

 “Oi!” a pair of voice called out, and they turned around.  It was the Weasley twins trotting towards them.  There was a strange glitter in their eyes, and a crooked smile on their lips.  Callidus and Malfoy reached towards their wands.  Harry just cocked his head, his stance guarded but curious.  The entrance hall was empty - if they Weasleys’ meant trouble, then the trio’s odds weren’t great.  On the other hand, all of them were pretty good at the disarming charm, the tickling charm and the  _ melofors _ jinx (which encased the target’s head in a pumpkin), thanks to the dueling club.

 

 “What do you want?” Malfoy asked, his grey eyes flashing in challenge.

 

 “Defensive little snakes, aren’t they?” one twin asked the other.

 

 “And all we wanted was a friendly chat,” the other replied.  They looked down at the trio with toothy grins.

 

 “I get the feeling that your idea of a friendly chat won’t exactly be comfortable for us.  But we can be just as  _ friendly _ as any Gryffindor,” Callidus said, stroking the handle of his wand which was still hidden in his pocket.

 

The Weasley twins peered down at him, with long looks that left Callidus’s innards squirming, though he held his stance.  Their lips pulled into slow, knowing smiles.

 

 “You’re an interesting one, aren’t you?” said one twin.

 

 “What did you say your name was?” said the other.

 

 “Begins with an ‘S,’ doesn’t it?”

 

 “Ends in an ‘S,’ I think.”

 

 “I think it was his last name that began with an ‘S’ -”

 

 “- or all the above.”

 

 “His name is Callidus Prince,” Harry informed them.

 

 “Is it now?” said one twin, with an eyebrow raised.

 

 “And here I was, thinking it was something else altogether,” said the other.

 

Callidus felt like he had been plunged in an icy lake.  If they were suggesting what they were suggesting, it meant that they knew who he was (or who his old self had been): Severus Snape.  But how could they know that?  Could it be a bluff?

 

 “It was quite a clever prank you three pulled,” said one twin.

 

 “Quite sophisticated, I must say,” said the other.

 

 “Better than anything we did in first year.”

 

 “Who would have thought?  Harry Potter, the Malfoy heir, and little Sna - er - Callidus.”

 

 “Took us a while to figure out that that prank was the work of a potion and not a charm.”

 

 “There aren’t many students who could brew a potion like that, is there Fred?”

 

 “It’s an effort almost worthy of a Potions Master, George.”

 

The pair of them looked back towards Callidus, smirking.

 

 “What do you want from me?” Callidus asked, his eyes narrowed and his palms sweating.

 

The twins looked back at each other.  “I don’t think he remembers,” Fred said to George.

 

 “You owe me five Galleons,” George said to Fred.

 

 “Who would have thought that the Great Bat would turn into a prankster?” said Fred.  “The irony is delicious.”

 

 “What are you talking about?” Malfoy spat out.

 

 “Nothing that concerns you,” the pair of them replied.

 

 “We wanted to congratulate you on a prank well done -” said Fred.

 

 “- and we wanted to call a truce -” said George.

 

 “- for the hols -” Fred added.

 

 “- more for your benefit than ours -” said George.  

 

 “- though we have something rather nice planned for Perce.”  The twins grinned evilly.

 

 “How do we know we can trust you?” Malfoy asked suspiciously.

 

The twins chortled with amusement.  “You can’t.”

 

 “See you three around!” the twins said with a casual wave, as the pair of them headed up towards the Gryffindor tower, surely to make more mischief.

 

 “That was - interesting,” Harry said, when the pair were out of sight.  The trio shared an uneasy look, but there was little they could do.  Truce or not, they would be practicing their spells.  And Callidus comforted himself with the thought that if the Weasley twins had not revealed his identity by now, they would probably keep it a secret.  Still, he’d have to take care to watch out for blackmail attempts.


	23. Chapter 23

A few days before Christmas, the trio decided to do something to celebrate Yule and the Solstice.  Malfoy had explained that the Winter Solstice celebrated the return of the Light.  Since the three of them could hardly plan anything lavish, they settled on burning a Yule Log.  Malfoy had to mail his parents to have them send some of the previous year’s Yule Log ashes because it played an important part of the ritual, and when the owl came with the bundle of ashes, the elder Malfoys also attached a small vial of enchanted wine with which to bless the log.

 

The trio ended up having to ask Hagrid to provide the log, which he gladly did with a wide and curious smile.  Caught up in the festivities, Malfoy opened up enough to explain the significance of the Yule Log to Hagrid, and the boys ended up spending the afternoon at Hagrid’s hut, filling up on treacle fudge and drinking tea.  Malfoy barely even noticed the way that Fang slobbered all over him, and spent the afternoon affectionately scratching the hound behind his ear.

 

With the Yule Log in hand, Malfoy prepared the wood with a ritual incantation, that caused the Log to briefly glow.  Following that, he sprinkled the wine upon the log, and there was yet another faint glow.  Callidus was surprised to note that he was able to sense the magic from the log - it had a deep, rich and pleasant quality, like a blanket that had been warming by a fire.  They chose the fireplace in the Slytherin dungeons to light the log.  Of all the place’s in the castle, it felt most like home.  The house elves had helped to decorate the common room with mistletoe (“It’s significance dates back to the time of the Druids,” Malfoy explained.)  The Yule Log was then placed upon the ashes of the previous year’s Yule Log, and it was lit with a special magical fire that burned a golden white.  Unlike Samhain, this time all three of the boys lent their magic towards igniting the magical fire, and once the log was burning, they looked at each other with awe, feeling as though they were part of something much greater than themselves.  Unlike a regular log, the Yule Log burned for the entire day, and when the magical fire eventually flickered out, Malfoy collected the ashes with careful reverence.

 

 “We can save it for next year,” Malfoy explained, and Callidus thought it was the first time he had ever seen such a warm smile on the blond’s face.  Callidus’s parents might be gone, but for a brief moment, Harry and Malfoy felt like his family.

 

Aside from their preparations for Yule, the trio had a great deal of free time on their hands.  They spent much of their break wandering the castle, researching new prank-related spells (or potions, in Callidus’s case) in the library, or sprawled on the sofas in the Slytherin dungeons.  They built a snow fort (that crumbled on one side, but looked quite impressive on the other).  They also played more wizard’s chess, though when Harry played against Malfoy, Callidus always helped him.  And when Harry played against Callidus, Malfoy would help Harry.  So really, the games were often Callidus against Malfoy, with Harry somehow caught in the middle, and all the while, the little chessmen argued with them in their angry little voices.  But at times, Callidus would slip away to work on potions in his lab (even though he wasn’t supposed to, without Wystan’s supervision.)  His Christmas presents to the others were all going to be potions, after all.

 

They had no luck finding the kitchens, and even though they asked the portraits (quite nicely, as a matter of fact,) the portraits would not reveal their secrets.  Though there was a waifish lady in a Roman toga who cooed over Malfoy and his white blond hair, causing Malfoy to pinken in embarrassment (“I just want to pinch your cute little cheeks!” she had squealed.)

 

 “I wish there was a way I could be invisible, or something,” Harry said one day as they were lazing about in the common room.  “It’d be a lot easier to follow Quiver around if he couldn’t see us.”

 

 “You’re still suspecting Quiver?” Callidus asked.  “I really can’t imagine that he’s the one who has been trying to hurt me.  It doesn’t make any sense.”

 

 “You think it’s one of the students, then?” Harry asked.

 

 “I really don’t know,” Callidus replied.

 

 “Who cares!” Malfoy groused.  “No one has tried anything lately. And I don’t want to spend my break watching Quiver hanging strings of garlic in his room.”

 

 “He wouldn’t be hanging strings of garlic if his plan was to try and hurt Cal,” Harry pointed out.

 

 “Maybe he thinks Prince is a vampire,” Malfoy replied.

 

 “Huh.  You are pretty pale, Cal.  Do you think it’s that?”

 

 “If I actually were a vampire, I don’t think I’d even be able to enter his classroom,” Callidus said, dryly.  “Plus, Malfoy is pale too, and Quiver isn’t exactly shaking at the sight of Malfoy.”

 

 “Well, I’m not asking if you actually are a vampire.  I know you’re not.  But maybe Quiver thinks you are.”

 

 “Quiver has seen me around during the day.  Why would he think I’m a vampire?” Callidus asked.

 

 “Oh.  Right.  Well, either way, I think he’s up to something,” Harry replied stubbornly. 

 

Callidus just hummed in response while Malfoy sighed, sick of hearing about Quirrell.

 

On Christmas Eve, Malfoy spent the entire evening talking about the presents he was hoping to receive - most notably, a racing broom (even if first years weren’t allowed to have them).  He also wanted a Swedish Short-Snout model dragon to round out his collection, a Hand of Glory (to which, Callidus raised his eyebrow, knowing it was a dark artefact), a new Sneakoscope (since he left his other one at home), a new set of chess pieces (with personalized tunics and pennants showing one’s personal crest), a goblet that turned water into gooseberry juice, a watch (that also pointed its hands at any nearby secret passages), and a candle that changed the colour of its flame when someone thought positive thoughts about the owner.  Malfoy’s prattling was enough to drive anyone mad.

 

 “A candle?  Really?” Callidus said with an arched eyebrow. “And one that’ll just stroke your overinflated ego, at that.”

 

 “Don’t be jealous,” Malfoy scoffed.  “If you had one, it’d never change colours.”

 

 “And you think yours will?” Callidus retorted.  “Maybe only when your parents are thinking of you.  Why do you celebrate Christmas anyway?  Isn’t it a muggle thing?”

 

Malfoy shrugged.  “Presents.”  Malfoy’s response left Callidus rolling his eyes.

 

Harry just made some comment about the food he wanted to eat (even though they had spent much of their break indulging in treats), before making his way to bed.

 

The following morning, Callidus and Harry were greeting by the sight of a veritable mountain of gifts surrounding Malfoy’s bed.  Callidus and Harry had much more modest piles, but Harry seemed elated to have even received anything at all.

 

 “Merry Christmas,” Callidus said to Harry, whose smile was so dazzling that it was almost painful to look at.

 

 “You too!” Harry replied, as he reached for one of the wrapped gifts sitting on the floor. “I can’t believe I got presents!”

 

 “Uugh - I’m trying to sleep -” Malfoy moaned from his bed.  He pulled his pillow from under his head, and buried under it, trying to block out their talking.

 

 “We’re opening presents now,” Harry called out to Malfoy.  “You have a mountain of them!”

 

Malfoy peeked out from under his pillow, his eyes squinting against the light.  With another groan, he tossed the pillow aside and sat up, before examining his presents with interest.

 

 “I dare say, there’s more here than last year!” Malfoy exclaimed, once he was more fully awake.

 

Callidus and Harry shared a look, before shaking their heads in amusement and returning to their piles.  Both of them started with parcels wrapped in brown paper, while Malfoy tore at a large box wrapped in silvery blue paper (which depicted a rather windy snowstorm, blowing large snowflakes round and round the package.)

 

The brown-wrapped parcels were from Hagrid.  Harry received a hand-carved wooden flute, while Callidus received a pan flute (though it only had four pipes).  When they were unwrapping their second parcels, Malfoy had already unwrapped three, exclaiming happily (or sometimes unhappily) over each one.

 

 “Is that - a fifty-pence piece?” Callidus asked Harry, who was looking down with bemusement at the paltry gift.

 

 “Yeah, from my aunt and uncle,” Harry replied.  “What did you get?”

 

 “Er - it looks like some sort of hair potion from Parkinson,” Callidus replied, holding up the purple and blue bottle. “Grease-B-Gone Hair Potion.  I don’t know if I should be thanking her or if I should be offended.”

 

Malfoy snorted.  “Think what you want, but Pansy usually has good taste.  Make sure you use that stuff before going to our party.”

 

Callidus rolled his eyes, and reached out for the next present.  From Bulstrode and Zabini, he (and Harry) received boxes of assorted chocolates.  From Wystan, he received a self-organizing journal that he could use to catalogue his potion results.  Malfoy gave him a book about Old Magic Potions.  From Dumbledore, a pair of fluffy, animated socks in a garish shade of turquoise.

 

He was unwrapping his gift from Harry when the other boy spoke.  “I can’t wait to try this!  We should use it later today.  Thanks Cal!”

 

 “What did he give you?” Malfoy asked, setting aside yet another elaborately wrapped box.

 

 “A Camouflage Potion,” Harry replied brightly.  He peered at the label on the side, reading the small words out loud.  “Five drops lasts for an hour.  Changes your appearance to match the background.  Darkness increases effectiveness.”

 

 “Did you brew that?” Malfoy asked Callidus.  Callidus nodded.  He had initially wanted to brew an invisibility potion for Harry, but wasn’t able to get a hold of one of the rare ingredients.  At least with the camouflage potion, he was able to brew a large batch that would probably last a year, even if used daily.  All his other gifts that he gave were potions.  For Parkinson, Zabini and Bulstrode, he had brewed a Giggling Tonic, which was lightly intoxicating, but much gentler on the body than alcohol (and also legal for minors).  And for Malfoy, he brewed an (ingestible) Perfect-Hair Elixir.  Maybe with that, Malfoy wouldn’t need to spend an hour getting ready in the morning.  Wystan had received a Charisma Draught (not that Wystan needed more Charisma, but he thought Wystan would find it amusing).  And for Dumbledore, he made a potion that would cause any food ingested to taste like Sherbet Lemons.

 

Callidus pulled apart the paper from Harry’s gift.  It was a book - a biography in fact, about the life of a famous Potions Master, said to be both brilliant and insane.  “Thanks, Harry!” Callidus said with a grin.  

 

 “You’ve read so much, so I wasn’t sure if you had read that one before,” Harry said sheepishly.

 

 “I haven’t yet,” Callidus replied.  Most of his books were focused on theory, but it would certainly be fascinating to learn about Deleritus the Deranged.

 

After Callidus and Harry had unwrapped all their presents, they watched Malfoy work his way through his enormous pile.

 

 “Look!”  Malfoy exclaimed, holding up a book.  “My father made me a copy of one of his old tomes on Old Magic.  I asked him to send me the books back in October, but he said they were too valuable and fragile.  Now we can learn more about the Old Ways.”

 

Malfoy handed the book over to Harry and Callidus.  The pair of them sat on Harry’s bed, flipping through the pages with interest.  The copy was exact, showing a spidery old script that was difficult to read, and using archaic language, but nonetheless, the book looked fascinating.  Callidus and Harry looked over the various ancient spells and rituals until Malfoy finally opened the last of his presents.  And despite his multitude of shiny new toys, Malfoy spent the rest of the morning complaining that his parents hadn’t purchased him a racing broom (nor the Hand of Glory, for that matter).

 

When the trio ventured out of the dungeons, they were amused to see the Weasley siblings in new sweaters.  Ronald Weasley was pouting in his maroon sweater which clashed with his hair.  The twins each had a sweater - one labeled with a large ‘F’ and the other with a ‘G.’  The twins were manhandling Percy Weasley, who wore a sweater had a big ‘P’ on the front of it.

 

 “Merlin, I’ve never seen sweaters so lumpy or misshapen.  They look like they’re wearing something made by a werewolf after mauling a herd of sheep,” Malfoy muttered.

 

 “I think it’s kinda nice,” Harry said.  “No one has ever knitted anything for me before.”

 

When they entered the Great Hall for the Christmas Feast, the first thing they noticed was that Dumbledore was wearing a lavish flowered bonnet rather than his usual wizard’s hat. 

 

Malfoy groaned.  “Merlin - my eyes!  First the Weasleys and now this.  Such offences against good taste should be illegal.”

 

Harry laughed.  “I think it’s kinda funny.  Even if it is rather barmy.”

 

 “I wouldn’t expect anything less from Dumbledore,” Callidus added.

 

The feast itself was wonderfully bountiful.  There was every kind of roast imaginable.  Turkey, chicken, beef, pork loins, lamb.  There was roast potatoes, boiled potatoes, mashed potatoes, and even scalloped potatoes.  There was an enormous tureen of buttered peas, and rich, silky gravy, as well as tart cranberry sauce.  And there was also an abundance of wizard crackers.  Malfoy wasn’t particularly impressed with the wizard crackers, but Callidus and Harry were thrilled, pulling apart the crackers, which boomed like cannon fire, and emitted smoke of various colours.

 

Dessert was flaming Christmas puddings, and at the Head Table, wine was served, which caused the Professors becoming increasingly red-faced and giggly.  Slughorn was making toast after toast to a bunch of people that Callidus had vaguely heard of (probably old students of his who had become famous or influential.)  McGonagall was smiling widely, which in and of itself was quite notable.  Flitwick was drunkenly showing off flashy charms, making the cutlery on the table dance an elaborate cotillion, to Dumbledore’s delight.  Dumbledore provided the music, by humming a jaunty tune for the cutlery to dance to.

 

In the afternoon, the trio somehow ended up getting caught in a snowball fight with the Weasleys.  It was clear that Malfoy and Ronald Weasley were holding back months of pent up aggression, because the pair of them flung snowballs as though they were trying to kill each other.  Harry remained good-humoured, laughing whenever he was hit, and throwing fluffy snowballs at the twins, with Callidus’s help.

 

By the time they returned to the Slytherin dungeons, they were cold and wet, but at least Malfoy looked content, after pelting the younger Weasley with densely packed snowballs.  There was no question that Ronald Weasley (and Malfoy) would be bruised by the following day.

 

 “What should we do now?” Malfoy asked, once the three of them were dry.

 

 “Let’s try that Camouflaging potion!” Harry exclaimed.

 

 “Where do you want to go?” Callidus asked.

 

Harry tilted his head as he thought.  “Might be able to sneak into the Restricted Section in the library.”

 

Callidus and Malfoy looked at Harry incredulously.  “Are you actually suggesting going to the library?” Callidus asked in disbelief.

 

Harry grinned and shrugged.  “Well - I’m curious to know what they have hiding in there.”

 

 “I’m not sure if we’d be able to camouflage well enough to sneak in without being seen,” Callidus informed them.

 

 “Let’s try looking for Quiver then,” Harry replied.

 

Malfoy rolled his eyes.  But since the blond was just as interested as Harry in trying the potion, he agreed.  Taking five drops each, the boys watched with amazement as their skin, hair and clothes changed colour to match the environment.

 

 “This would be perfect for pranks!” Malfoy exclaimed.

 

 “I know,” Callidus grinned.  “I found the recipe when we were looking up potions and spells to use for pranking.”

 

 “Go stand against that tapestry!” Malfoy ordered.

 

Callidus and Harry rolled their eyes before walking over to one of the walls.  They stood in front of the tapestry, and laughed with glee when they saw the spread of colours on their skin and clothes.

 

 “You don’t even make a shadow,” Malfoy told them.  “When you stand still, I can barely see you.  It even changes your eyes.”  Malfoy walked up to Harry, staring closely at his face.  “Weird!  One of your eyes - including the white - is blue like the sky of the tapestry, and this other one is green like the landscape.”

 

 “Same for you,” Harry replied.  “Though it’s kind of weird, because you match the far wall, even though you’re right in front of me.  I s’pose it must change depending on your perspective.”

 

Callidus nodded.  “That’s my understanding of how the potion works.  Well?  Shall we get going?”

 

The other two boys nodded with bright grins, and Callidus noticed that even their teeth matched the background.  The trio left the Slytherin dungeons, keeping close to the wall.  They did their best to keep their footsteps quiet - making a ruckus would defeat the whole purpose of trying to blend in with the landscape after all.

 

 “Do you think he’ll be in his office?” Harry whispered.

 

 “Quiver?  I don’t know.  Seems like the sort that’d spend the hols hiding,” Callidus whispered in reply.

 

 “Well, let’s head up that way then,” Harry said.

 

The trio wove through the corridors of the dungeon, passing by the Bloody Baron who said a melancholy ‘hello,’ and took a set of circular side stairs upwards.  In the shadowy darkness of the stairs, the camouflage effect was even more pronounced, and if they had been standing still, they would have been near invisible.

 

At the top of the stairs, Harry scanned the hallway before motioning for the two of them to follow.  At one point, they heard Peeves the poltergeist cackling wildly, followed by a loud crash.  The three of them stilled, listening to their hearts race, but the noisy poltergeist found someone else to bother, chanting out an obnoxious, rhyming taunt.

 

 “I say, what’s that!” A portrait exclaimed, when he noticed their motion.  The sound startled the trio, and they dashed forward, turning a corner, and then laughing nervously when they realized that there was no danger.  They took another side staircase (this one straight, but just as narrow) up to the next floor. 

 

 “Is Quiver’s office near his classroom?” Callidus whispered to Harry.

 

Harry looked from Callidus to Malfoy (who might have been shrugging, but with the camouflage potion, it was hard to tell), and then back to Callidus.  “I guess there’s only one way to find out,” Harry replied.

 

They crept towards the Defence classroom, when the noticed a small shadow with bright yellow eyes.  To their dismay, it was Mrs. Norris - Filch’s cat.  And where Mrs. Norris was, Filch, the crotchety caretaker was soon to follow.  The Slytherin trio had managed to avoid trouble with the despised caretaker all year, but regardless of that, Filch was universally hated by the students.

 

 “Sniff any of those nasty little beasts, my sweet?” they heard Filch say. 

 

The trio shared a horrified look (even though they couldn’t actually see each other’s eyes.)

 

 “Run!” Callidus whispered, and the three of them made a mad dash to get as far away from Filch as possible.  What in Merlin’s name was the caretaker doing, patrolling on Christmas night anyway?  Did the man never rest?

 

The trio ran and ran, heedless of where they were going, but somehow, still sticking together.  They paused to catch their breath next to a suit of armour, when they heard Filch’s voice again.  Curse it!  Flich knew most of the shortcuts in the school, and it wasn’t going to be easy to slip away.

 

 “There!” Harry whispered.  Callidus saw a movement that was probably Harry’s arm, but with the Camouflage Potion, it was hard to tell.  Nonetheless, they noticed the open door, and the trio crept inside, shutting the door behind them with silent care.  Their hearts raced, and their breaths were shallow and uneven.  But Filch didn’t seem to be coming their way, and they soon breathed heavy sighs of relief.

 

 “Think he’s gone?” Harry whispered, after what felt like an infinitely long moment.

 

 “Yeah,” Malfoy replied softly.  “I don’t hear anything.”

 

The trio shared shaky smiles (that couldn’t really be seen, due to the Camouflage Potion), feeling relieved that they hadn’t been caught.  Believing Filch to be gone, they examined their surroundings.  It appeared to be an unused classroom, with desks and chairs pushed against the walls.

 

 “What’s that?” asked Harry, and a flicker of movement suggested that he might be pointing.  Callidus and Malfoy followed the direction of the movement, and noticed the ornate mirror, looking decidedly out of place in the classroom.  The mirror was nearly as high as the ceiling, with an opulent looking gold frame and clawed feet.  The inscription on the top read: Erised stra ehru oyt ube cafru oyt on wohsi.

 

 “What does it mean?” Malfoy asked, his eyes on the inscription.

 

Callidus shook his head.  “I don’t know.  I’ve never seen a language like that before.”

 

Harry was creeping up to the face of the mirror, peering at the shining surface.  A small gasp escaped his lips, before he covered his mouth with his hands, and backed away.

 

Callidus and Malfoy stepped towards Harry, concerned.

 

 “Are you all right?” Callidus asked.  “Did you see something strange?”

 

Harry’s eyes were wide, and he was looking behind him with a confused sort of fright. 

 

 “What is it, Harry?” Malfoy asked.

 

 “I saw a whole crowd of people in the mirror,” Harry replied, his voice slightly wavering. “You two were there - you had your arms flung over my shoulders.  But there were a lot of other people as well.”

 

Callidus and Malfoy shared a bewildered look, while Harry cautiously stepped forward, eyes fixed on the looking glass.

 

 “There!” Harry exclaimed quietly.  “Can’t you see it?  It’s strange - both your arms are on my shoulders again, even though neither of you are actually touching me now.  There’s a pretty woman just behind me, touching my hair.  Her eyes look a lot like mine, and she’s crying but smiling at the same time.  And next to her is a black-haired man with messy hair and glasses.”  Harry gasped again.  “Mum?  Dad?”

 

Callidus and Malfoy walked up to Harry, alarmed.  

 

 “Can’t you see them?” Harry asked with a faint pleading note in his voice.  But when Callidus looked at the mirror, all he saw was Harry.

 

 “I don’t see anything but you,” Malfoy said.

 

Harry knit his brow, giving the mirror a long look before glancing back at his two friends.  “Try standing on my spot,” Harry suggested, backing away and nudging Malfoy forward.  Malfoy stepped up to the mirror, and his grey eyes widened. 

 

 “What do you see?” Harry asked urgently.

 

 “Well, the three of us are there -” Malfoy began.  “You have your arm around my shoulder, Harry.  But Prince -” Malfoy grinned wickedly.  “- well, Prince is looking at me with admiration.  The other Slytherins are there too, trying to fulfill my commands.  Oh!  I have the new Nimbus Two Thousand - the fastest broomstick on the market, and it’s even a special limited edition.  I’m even in a Quidditch uniform for the Slytherin team!  My mother and father are behind me.  My father is -” a strange look crossed Malfoy’s face, half happiness and half pain.  “My father is telling me that he’s proud of me.”

 

 “You can hear him speaking?” Callidus asked.

 

Malfoy shook his head, his eyes still transfixed on the mirror.  “I see his lips moving, but I can tell that’s what he’s saying.”

 

 “What do you think it means?” Harry asked.

 

 “Is it the future?” Malfoy looked intently at this reflection.  “Maybe it’s showing next year, when I make the Quidditch team.”

 

Harry shook his head.  “It can’t be the future.  My family is dead.  Cal!  What do you see?”

 

Harry gripped Callidus by the arm, pulling him in front of the mirror, while Malfoy stepped away.

 

Feeling a mix of trepidation and unease, Callidus looked towards the shining surface.  He saw himself in the center, older than he was now - nineteen perhaps, with normal looking skin and hair, which meant that his reflection wasn’t using Camouflage Potion (even though a glance down at his hands told him the potion was still in effect.)  He had (an older) Harry’s arm flung around his shoulders.  Nineteen-year-old Malfoy was next to him, with an expression that was a curious mix of jealousy and affection.  Next to Harry was Lily, and he took a sharp intake of breath.  With Lily next to Harry, the small resemblances between them became clearer.  It went beyond their eyes - it was the tilt of their heads, and the way that they smiled.  It was the open way that they carried themselves, and the expression on their faces. 

 

He examined his attire, and the accoutrements that surrounded him.  It struck him then that he was a Potions Master!  There was also one more face in the reflection that surprised him:  Granger.  She had the look of an academic, but what struck him most was the warmth and admiration in her eyes.  He sensed that they were close friends, and his guilt over his treatment towards her returned.  But in the mirror, Granger’s expression was forgiving and full of kindness.  His gaze returned to the older Malfoy and then Harry, who was mouthing something. 

 

 “Well?” said Harry expectantly, pulling Callidus’s attention away from the vision.

 

 “I’m older - no more than twenty, and a Potions Master.  You and Malfoy are there - we’re all older.  And you’re saying - brothers?” Callidus said, guessing at the word, causing Harry and Malfoy to gasp.

 

 “Mine said that too,” Harry exclaimed.  “You and Draco were both saying ‘brothers’”

 

Malfoy nodded in agreement.  

 

 “Do you think it means -” Harry began excitedly.

 

 “The Brotherhood ritual?” Malfoy finished.

 

Harry nodded eagerly.  “Maybe the mirror is telling us that we’re meant to be brothers.  That’s the one thing all our reflections had in common.  That’s what you saw, right, Cal?”

 

 “Well, as I said, my reflection showed an older version of me. But yes, you and Malfoy were there, and we were - uh - brothers.”

 

 “I haven’t stopped thinking about the brotherhood ritual since you mentioned it,” Harry confessed. “I thought neither of you wanted to do it.”

 

 “I -” Malfoy began, as Callidus hummed thoughtfully.

 

 “I do want us to be brothers,” Callidus admitted.  “Sometimes it feel like we already are.”

 

Malfoy nodded.  “I want us to be brothers too.  The book my father sent me that book on Old Magic that should have more details about the ritual.”

 

 “So we’re going to do it?” Harry asked, sounding as hopeful as a puppy looking for pets.

 

Callidus looked towards Malfoy who was looking back at him.  Despite the potion, each of them nodded before looking back at Harry.

 

 “Let’s do it,” the two of them said.


	24. Chapter 24

The trio made their way back to the Slytherin dungeons with no incident (aside from accidentally walking through one of the castle ghosts, leaving them feeling squirmy and chilled.)  The tome on Old Magic was still sitting on Harry’s bed, but at least the wrapping paper and boxes had long been cleared away by the house elves.  The effects of the Camouflage Potion faded away, and the pale hues of their skin returned to normal.

 

By this time of night, the blackness had settled like inky veil over the landscape, and the candles that lit the dormitory created an intimate atmosphere that made the three boys feel like the only people in all the world.  They had climbed atop Harry’s bed, and Malfoy pulled the book onto his lap.  He flipped through the pages until he found the ritual, squinting at the spidery letters.

 

 “Easy enough,” Malfoy said.  “It’s just as I remembered: intent, and the mingling of blood.  It says here that we will be magically bound as brothers by blood, and no laws of man may tear our bond asunder.”

 

 “Erm - What?” said Harry.

 

 “Does that mean that we’d be brothers, both by blood, and in the eyes of the law?” Callidus asked.

 

 “I’m not sure.  I think that’s what’s implied,” Malfoy replied.

 

 “All the better, right?” Harry asked.

 

Callidus and Malfoy’s eyes met.  Being brothers in the dark of night was one thing, but the mention of laws made them realize that this was so much more than just themselves.  But neither of them could deny their desire for kinship.  Friends were one thing, parents were something else, but  _ brothers _ \- brothers would always stand by each other’s side (at least they assumed so - having no siblings meant that they were unfamiliar with the realities of sibling rivalry).

 

 “Let’s do it,” Harry said, his green eyes almost glowing with an unearthly light.  Callidus and Malfoy nodded.

 

 “How will we -” Callidus held up one hand, and made a slicing gesture against it with the other.  “Should we use  _ diffindo _ ?”

 

 “Merlin no!” Malfoy exclaimed.  “You’d probably cut off my whole hand.  I’ve got a dagger somewhere.  Just wait -”  Malfoy climbed off his bed, and rummaged through his trunk until he found a silver dagger, its hilt inlaid with glittering gemstones.  He returned to Harry’s bed with his prize.

 

 “The pattern of the emeralds and opals enhances magical absorption.  It’s meant to be imbued with magic, but right now, it’s empty of any magical charge,” Malfoy explained, setting the dagger on the centre of the bed.  From the craftsmanship of the dagger, Callidus had a feeling that the dagger was worth a fortune.

 

 “How do you charge it?” Harry asked, touching the hilt of the dagger.

 

 “It was crafted to readily absorb the intent of the user,” Malfoy explained.  “That’s part of its power, but also part of its danger.”

 

Harry picked up the dagger, testing the weight of it in his hands.  Suddenly, his eyes widened in surprise, and almost lost grip of the hilt.

 

 “What happened?” Callidus asked.

 

 “I felt something!” Harry exclaimed.  “I was thinking of being brothers.  And I did that thing - you know - the same as I do to get that black pyramid to change colours.  And the dagger started to feel - I dunno - more powerful.  But in a good way.”

 

Callidus looked over to Harry’s bedside table, where the black pyramid that he had gifted to Harry sat.  He didn’t realize that Harry still used it.  If Callidus had looked over at Malfoy, he would have seen a mix of confusion and hurt on Malfoy’s face - though Malfoy spoke lightly of the dagger, Malfoy had never managed to infuse it with any power.  But Malfoy’s expression quickly returned to a more neutral mien, and the moment of weakness was gone.

 

 “I play with it sometimes, when I can’t sleep,” Harry explained, glancing towards the pyramid.  “Trying to control what colour it becomes.  So - er - should I start?”  Harry held the blade against his palm.  

 

 “Wait,” Callidus said.  “How should we do this?  Are we all supposed to share blood at the same time?  And unless you’re good at the  _ episkey  _ spell, I don’t know if it’s wise to cut our palms.”

 

Harry bit down on his lower lip and stared intently at the dagger in his hands.  There was a contemplative look on his face before his eyes narrowed, gripping the hilt of the dagger with a firm intensity.  Callidus’s and Malfoy’s eyes met before they looked back at Harry, wondering what he was doing.

 

Harry seemed to be a bit paler, and he exhaled heavily, as though he just set down an immense weight.

 

 “I don’t know if that worked,” Harry said.  “I tried charging it with healing energy.”  He set the dagger down on the middle of the bed.  

 

Cautiously, Malfoy picked it up.  “It feels - warm.  Not just warm from your grip, but a deeper warmth like hot chocolate on a cold day.”  A soft smile crossed his face, but quickly vanished.

 

 “What if we each slice both of our palms, and hold hands, in a circle?” Harry suggested.

 

 “What if it doesn’t heal?  I don’t really want to have to explain what happened to Madam Pomfrey,” Callidus replied.

 

 “We’ll just say it was an accident.  She doesn’t need to know any details,” Harry pointed out.  Harry looked from Callidus to Malfoy.  The two boys nodded.

 

 “Alright.  Let’s do it then.”

 

The three boys positioned themselves in an even circle.  Malfoy was still holding the dagger, but paled at the idea of cutting into his skin.

 

 “I’ll go first,” Harry offered.  Malfoy nodded, and handed the dagger to him.  Hesitating only for a second, Harry cut a clean line into each palm.

 

 “It doesn’t even hurt,” Harry said, with a touch of wonder.  Malfoy went next, and then handed the dagger to Callidus.  With quick strokes, he cut a long line into each of his palms, and just as Harry had said, there was no pain - only a mild, tingling warmth.  Setting the dagger back in the middle of the bed, the boys held out their hands, feeling hot blood mingling with hot blood.

 

 “We have to focus our intent,” Malfoy said.  Callidus and Harry nodded.  Callidus focused on being bound to the two other boys, the word ‘brothers’ echoing in his heart.  He kept his magical sensitivity focused on the ritual, and as such, he felt an intense blast of magic from Harry that seemed to start from where their hands were joined, and swept through him, like hot sand through his veins - fiery, intense, rough, and yet, not painful.  The flow of magic moved through them, in a circle, and in that moment, they felt like one being, rather than three.  It took Callidus’s breath away - the sheer power of it, as well as the binding connection.  He felt as though he would never be alone, ever again.

 

Callidus could have sworn that the three of them were glowing, with a crimson light the colour of blood.  He looked at Malfoy, and then Harry, and something in their eyes told him that they were seeing and experiencing the same things.  The moment felt eternal, but then the light faded, and magic settled.  Gingerly, the boys pulled their hands apart.

 

 “Look!” Harry exclaimed, holding up his palms.  The cuts had healed, leaving nothing more than a thin, silvery scar that could barely be seen.  Callidus and Malfoy looked at their own palms with wonder.

 

 “Do you feel any different?” Callidus asked the other two.

 

 “I can’t tell,” Harry replied.  “But I know something happened.  If that worked, it means that we’re brothers now.”  His grin was wide enough to split his face, and confronted with Harry’s happiness, Callidus and Malfoy found themselves grinning in return.

 

 “Brothers, then,” Callidus said.  

 

Malfoy and Harry nodded.  “Brothers,” they echoed.

 

The following day, the boys were eager to return to the classroom with the mysterious mirror.  In Harry’s case, he wanted to see his parents, while Malfoy was curious about the glory he had witnessed.  As for Callidus, he was curious about the inscription.  He planned to bring a parchment and quill, to see if he could puzzle out the mysterious language. 

 

Now that the trio were blood brothers, they were also curious to know if the reflection would change.  Would they see something new, now that they fulfilled this aspect of their reflection?  Or would it show the same scenes?

 

But since they thought it would be better to return to the mirror in the quiet shadows of evening, they decided to test the Camouflage potion during the day, and use it to trail Quirrell (which was Harry’s idea, of course.)

 

 “Why are you so convinced that it’s Quiver anyway?” Callidus whispered to Harry, as they edged along the wall. 

 

 “‘Cause he’s a coward.  Think about it!  It makes sense.  Rather than attacking you directly, the first time, he exploded your chair, and the second time, he broke the benches in the Quidditch stands.  He seems like the sort who would do something underhanded like that,” Harry explained.

 

The three boys were on the second floor, waiting to see if Quirrell planned to leave his office that day.

 

 “I guess that makes an odd sort of sense,” Callidus murmured.

 

 “Ugh, this is so stupid.  I think we should be making use of the camouflage to prank the Weasleys instead,” Malfoy whinged.

 

 “In this case, I’d have to agree with you, Malfoy,” Callidus replied.  “If we were going to follow Quiver around, it would have made more sense to do it after a meal, since he goes out to the Great Hall during meals.  Right now, all we can do is stand here and occasionally peek around the corner.  It could be hours before he decides to leave his office!”

 

 “We have a truce with the Weasleys!” Harry exclaimed. “It wouldn’t be right to prank them.”

 

 “We have a truce with the Weasley  _ twins _ .  As I recall, there are still two other Weasleys that could be pranked,” Malfoy retorted.  “And besides, it’s more satisfying, pranking Ronald Weasley.”

 

Harry rolled his eyes (which could barely be seen, due to the Camouflage Potion.)  The three of them bickered quietly until the potion wore off, and they scampered back to the Slytherin Dungeons, having accomplished nothing.  But using the Camouflage Potion during the day gave them a sense of the potion’s strengths and limitations.  They learned to stick close to the shadows, and if anyone came their way, they found that staying as still as possible was the best method of avoiding detection.

 

That evening, the trio took more Camouflage Potion and trekked out of the dungeons towards the empty classroom with the mysterious mirror.  They lost their way twice, and had to backtrack, and once, almost tipped over a suit of armour (which chided them for their clumsiness).  Eventually, they managed to find the classroom, and dashed eagerly towards the large shining surface.

 

As Callidus pulled out some parchment and a quill to write down the mirror’s enigmatic inscription, Malfoy stepped towards the reflective glass.

 

 “It’s different this time!” Malfoy exclaimed.  “We’re both holding the latest racing brooms - well, Harry and I.  We’ve won the Quidditch cup!  Prince, you look so jealous - ha!  But kind of happy at the same time.  And my father -” Malfoy’s voice cracked.  “He’s giving me the Malfoy signet ring.  He’s proud of me.  Harry - you’re telling me that I’m your favourite brother.”

 

Harry chuckled as Callidus scowled.  “You’re both my favourite brothers,” Harry said with amusement.  “That feels so weird - to know that we’re brothers now.  My turn!”

 

Malfoy stepped away as Harry walked up to the mirror.  Harry was mesmerized by the image before him.

 

 “It’s the same as before.  We’re brothers - brothers for real now, forever.  And my mum and dad - I’m sure it’s them!  Oh - but others are there too - Pansy and Tracey.  And Pansy is ruffling my hair, and we’re all best friends, and it’s going to be the best Hogwarts year ever and my parents -” Harry’s eyes looked like they were shining with unshed tears “- they love me so much.”

 

Harry was reaching a hand out to touch the mirror’s surface.  Meanwhile, Callidus had perched himself on one of the desks at the edge of the classroom, trying to puzzle out the inscription.  It was certainly not Latin.

 

 “Do you want to have a look?” Harry called out to Callidus, once he managed to tear his eyes away from the engrossing scene.

 

 “What?”  Callidus looked up from the parchment.  He looked back down, and suddenly, an idea occurred to him.  What if he was supposed to read the message in the mirror?

 

 “The mirror,” Harry repeated.

 

 “Yeah, I’m coming,” Callidus replied, rushing forward as Harry stepped away.  Hoping that his instincts were right, he stepped up to the looking glass, and held up the parchment.  This time, he saw himself holding up the piece of paper.  It said: ishow no tyo urfac ebu tyo urhe arts desirE. 

 

Callidus squinted his eyes at the small words, and in the reflection, his other self was tracing a line under the message, and mouthing the meaning to him.  What was it supposed to say?  All of a sudden, the pieces fell into place.

 

 “I show not your face but your hearts desire.”

 

 “Come again?” said Malfoy, while Harry said, “What?”

 

 “The inscription!” Callidus exclaimed.  “Look!  It’s supposed to be read backwards, and when it’s reflected in the mirror, you can see.  It says: I show not your face but your hearts desire.  That means -”

 

 “It means that the images in the mirror aren’t real,” Malfoy finished.  “It shows us what we want to see.”

 

Harry and Malfoy both looked crestfallen.  “None of it was real?” Harry asked, sounding small.

 

 “I’m sorry, Harry,” Callidus replied, recalling how Harry had lit up when he realized the mirror showed him his parents.  “Though we’ve learned that we all wanted to be brothers, and we managed to make it happen.”

 

 “So the things in the mirror could still come true,” Malfoy murmured.

 

Callidus nodded.  “But I suppose it isn’t a given.”

 

The trio fell into silence as they contemplated what they had learned. 

 

 “I don’t think we should come back here,” Harry said quietly, breaking the silence.  “If it isn’t real, then it’s just false hope.”

 

The other two agreed, and when they returned to their dormitory, they thought of both what appeared in the mirror, as well as what it said about themselves.


	25. Chapter 25

The day before the Malfoy fete, Callidus had a meeting with Dumbledore.  Both Callidus and Harry ran a risk by leaving the safety of Hogwarts, but while Harry could go as himself, Callidus needed to disguise his appearance.

 

Dumbledore was laughing at something that one of the portraits was saying when Callidus entered his circular office.  When Callidus raised a black eyebrow, Dumbledore explained that they were sharing jokes in Old English.

 

 “How has your Christmas break been thus far, Callidus?” the Headmaster asked.  “Making your share of mischief?”

 

Callidus scowled.  “I don’t make mischief.  It just finds me.”

 

Dumbledore’s eyes creased with merriment, and his lips quirked upwards.

 

Callidus huffed with irritation before his expression became sly.  “Speaking of mischief - I wonder what people would think if they knew the headmaster of Hogwarts was capable of Legilimency - and uses it on his students at that.”

 

A flicker of something crossed Dumbledore’s eyes before the benign expression returned.  “Have you worn those socks that I gave you for Christmas?”

 

 “Don’t change the subject,” Callidus snapped.  “I want you to teach me.”

 

 “Legilimency, and it’s sister art Occlumency are highly intensive forms of magic, and I fear that at your tender age, it may do more harm than good to teach you.” The headmaster’s expression was unusually serious.

 

Callidus opened up his mouth to argue, but Dumbledore held up a hand to stop him.

 

 “I can see that you are quite intent on learning all you can about these two forms of magic,” Dumbledore continued.  “I cannot teach you Legilimency nor Occlumency now, but I can give you a book that provides meditative techniques that will pave the way towards strengthening your mind, and laying the groundwork for Occlumency.”

 

Callidus pursed his lips, but then nodded in agreement.  He could tell that the headmaster would be unwilling to compromise in this matter, as tempting as it might be to try and push further.  An amusing thought must have crossed Dumbledore’s mind because his expression quickly changed from serious to mirthful.

 

 “It was quite clever of you to discover the true meaning of the Mirror of Erised,” Dumbledore said, conversationally, his eyes asparkle.

 

Callidus blanched.  “You - you were there?”  he exclaimed and then groaned.  

 

  “Of course you were there,” Callidus then grumbled.  “Undoubtedly one of your other powers that you failed to mention to anyone.  We certainly didn’t see you.  So you were - invisible?”

 

Dumbledore’s smile was rather self-satisfied.

 

 “Which means,” Callidus continued, “you know about our Camouflage Potion.”  Callidus knit his brow, realizing that it would be much more difficult to get away with their sneaking about when Dumbledore knew all about their little tricks.

 

 “You needn’t fear,” Dumbledore said, breaking into Callidus’s thoughts.  “I shan’t tell a soul about the potion.  It was clever work.  Though not as clever as the potion you gave me, which I have yet to thank you for.  I must say, it’s quite the delight, when peas and carrots taste like Sherbet Lemons.”

 

Callidus cringed at the thought.  Personally, he thought the idea sounded disgusting, but at least the Headmaster was pleased.  And in truth, it wasn’t all that clever - all of the potions he made for Christmas were recipes he found, not recipes he created.  If not for his prank related research, he wouldn’t have come across many of the rather interesting potions that he gifted to his friends.

 

“And I must congratulate you too, on acquiring two new siblings,” Dumbledore continued, causing Callidus’s head to snap towards the headmaster in surprise.  Though if Dumbledore had overheard their conversation in front of the Mirror of Erised, then he must have known what they planned to do.

 

“Having loved ones close to you can bring out the best in a person.  Many -” (the unspoken word here is ‘Slytherins’)  “- underestimate how much they need human connection.” the headmaster added.

 

Callidus sighed.  “Yes, yes, the power of love - I’ve heard your speech before.”

 

Dumbledore smiled widely, ignoring Callidus’s rudeness.

 

 “So, I suppose we shall have to find a disguise for you, for the Malfoy Gala,” Dumbledore said brightly.  “What fun!”

 

Callidus felt a slight headache starting to form around his temples.  Anything that the headmaster thought of as ‘fun’ was bound to be tiresome.  With a sigh, he braced himself for what Dumbledore had in store.

 

By the time Callidus was trekking back down to the Slytherin dungeons, he had a fancy new appearance altering ring on one hand (on loan of course - he had to return it to Dumbledore after the party was over), a book on meditative techniques in the other hand, and a pounding headache.  The effects of the magic ring were subtle - a slightly different shape of nose; eyes that were a bit further apart; hair more chestnut brown than black; skin more honey-brown than yellow; and a somewhat weaker jaw.  They were all small differences, but the total effect made him look like an entirely different person.

 

When he entered the common room (where Harry and Malfoy were busy practicing prank-related charms), he was greeted by a look of confusion from the two boys. 

 

 “Who -” Harry squinted his green eyes.  “No - is it - Cal?”

 

Malfoy was blinking rapidly in surprise.  “When you said you would be wearing a disguise to the party, I was thinking more along the lines of a colour-change charm in your hair.  I didn’t realize the headmaster would change your whole face.”

 

Callidus smirked and then winced (due to his headache.)  “Dumbledore is rather serious about this threat against me.”

 

 “Evidently,” Malfoy replied.  “The Malfoy manor is one of the most protected homes in all of Magical Great Britain, you know.  I feel like we should be offended that old Dumbledore has so little faith in our ability to keep our guests safe.”

 

Callidus just shrugged.

 

 “Your hair is still greasy though,” Malfoy said with amusement.  “I can’t believe you still haven’t used that potion that Pansy got for you.  Do be sure to use a liberal amount tomorrow.  I can’t have you dirtying up my robes.”  

 

Since neither Callidus nor Harry had dress robes, Malfoy very, very grudgingly agreed to lend them each a set of his old dress robes.  Initially, Malfoy had tried to wheedle them into a trade for the use of the dress robes, but both Callidus and Harry said they didn’t care if they showed up at the party in casual robes (or worse, muggle clothing).  Malfoy then decided it would be too humiliating for his own friends to show up looking scruffy, thus, the borrowed dress robes.  For Callidus, he was loaned a deep black-green set of robes; for Harry, a lighter green that matched his eyes.  Malfoy would be wearing silver with green trim.

 

The following day, they met with Professor McGonagall at her office.  They would be travelling to the Malfoy manor by floo.  Malfoy took even longer than usual to get ready (and Callidus thought that aside from the fancy dress robes, he really didn’t look too different than usual).  Malfoy had attempted to help Harry to tame his messy hair, but it was a futile endeavour and no amount of hair potions (no matter how expensive), seemed to help.  As for Callidus, he used the Grease-B-Gone Hair Potion, and though he would never admit it out loud, the results were impressive.  True, the face looking back at him in the mirror wasn’t his own, but even the disguised version of himself had greasy hair, and after using the potion, his long, fine locks were silky, glossy and soft to the touch.  When Malfoy saw the results, there was a glint of appreciation in his eyes.

 

Professor McGonagall was also in dress robes, but there wasn’t a hint of liveliness in her face.  She looked as though she were preparing herself for a long day of punishment.  But this was no surprise - McGonagall’s social circles did not overlap with the Malfoys at all.  Though she was welcome at the party, she would not be among friends (though Slughorn was also attending, so at least she could speak to him.)

 

 “Ready?” she asked the trio of boys, who stood in a line at her office.  There was a resigned note in her voice, but McGonagall had always taken her responsibilities seriously, and she was more than aware of the dangers that could befall either Harry or Callidus.  The boys nodded, and she herded them towards the fireplace, bringing down the container of floo powder from the mantle.  Malfoy went first in a burst of green flames, followed by Harry and then Callidus in quick succession.

 

Callidus clumsily stepped out into a lavish drawing room in Malfoy manor, just as Malfoy was helping Harry to his feet.  It appeared that Harry had been rather disoriented by floo travel, and all but flailed out of the fireplace in a mess of awkward limbs.

 

 “That was awful,” Harry groaned.  “All that spinning and spinning.”

 

Malfoy rubbed his back sympathetically.  “You’ll get used to it.”

 

Callidus peered at his surroundings, noticing enormous, gold-framed works of art, and lush damask furniture.  But his attention was pulled away from the room when a house elf, with long leathery ears, and very long nose greeted him.  She appeared to be dressed in an embroidered table runner, and her amber coloured eyes were so big that they dominated the elf’s face.  He hadn’t noticed the house elf, as focused as he had been on Harry and Malfoy, and then the room.

 

 “Gilly welcomes Master Draco’s brother to Malfoy manor,” the diminutive house elf said, her expression bright and eager.

 

 “What?” Callidus said in surprise, as Harry and Malfoy walked towards him.

 

 “They know,” Malfoy said to Callidus.  “I guess that ritual worked.  Gilly, do my parents know about this?”

 

Gilly shook her head.  “Master and Mistress Malfoy do not know.  But Malfoy manor magic recognizes Master Harry and Master -” Gilly looked at Callidus expectantly.

 

 “Er - Callidus.”

 

 “- Callidus as kin to Master Draco,” Gilly continued.  “Gilly, Dobby, Lilty, Wiffim and Nori recognize Harry and Callidus as Masters.”

 

The trio shared a bemused look, but they were interrupted by the arrival of Professor McGonagall.  Gilly quickly walked over to greet her.

 

 “Gilly is leading guests to the reception hall now, but Master and Mistress Malfoy is wanting to speak to Master Draco first,” the house elf said, looking up at the four of them.

 

Malfoy bent down towards the house elf’s ear.  “Don’t tell my parents about - uh - any of this brother business,” Malfoy said to Gilly in a whisper before straightening up and turning to Callidus, Harry and Professor McGonagall.

 

 “Follow Gilly, and make yourselves comfortable.  Pansy, Zabini, Daphne and Nott might already be here” he told them.  “I’m going to find my parents, and I’ll meet you in the reception hall as soon as I can.  I’m sure my parents will want to speak to you both - especially you, Harry.”

 

Harry paled, but nodded.  Because this party was considered one of the more ‘casual’ Malfoy events, their presence wasn’t announced when they entered the vast reception hall (but announcements were made for those who entered the adjoining ballroom).  The grandeur of the hall almost matched the immense entrance hall at Hogwarts.  However, instead of ancient majesty, the Malfoy manor conveyed an opulent air of extravagance.  Everything seemed to be gold or white.  The marble beneath their feet was shining white with delicate veins of grey.  Overhead was an enormous gilded chandelier with innumerable crystals dripping from its frame.  Along the sides of the hall, were golden wall sconces, with intricate curling patterns, each holding brightly lit candles.

 

 “Stay close, boys,” McGonagall said, her voice tight.  Callidus and Harry nodded, and then scanned the crowd, hoping to see a familiar face.  The witches and wizards were wearing dress robes of every colour imaginable.  If it were a muggle affair, the men would be in black and white, while the women would be decked in colourful gowns.  But in wizarding society, there was no stricture that stated that men had to wear black, or other similarly dark colours.

 

 “There’s Professor Slughorn,” Harry said, pointing to the short, rotund man, who was already flushed with drink.

 

 “Oh!  I see Pansy - there, by that huge gold vase.  Come on, Cal,” Harry said, pushing through the crowd.  Callidus and Professor McGonagall trailed behind.

 

The other Slytherins had arrived, and all of them were shocked by Callidus’s appearance.  He explained that he needed to be disguised for safety, but all that earned him was speculative looks.  Within the Slytherin House, most people were aware of each other’s political affiliations, but Callidus had purposely remained vague about his beliefs.  By telling the others that he needed protection, it was as though he was declaring himself in opposition to the Malfoy beliefs of pureblood supremacy.  That said, they knew he was a half-blood anyway, so they weren’t surprised.

 

Once McGonagall had ascertained that the first years weren’t going to wander off, she left them to go chat with Slughorn.  Though Slughorn and McGonagall weren’t close by any means, it was still preferable to speak to an adult, than to have to mill about a group of eleven-year-olds.  Malfoy eventually returned, only to drag Harry off.

 

 “My parents wish to meet you,” Malfoy explained, causing Harry chew his lip nervously.

 

 “Oh, stop that!” Malfoy exclaimed.  “My father is planning to help you, and my mother already likes you, if her letters are to be believed.  You don’t have to worry.”  Malfoy put a reassuring hand on Harry’s shoulder, and Harry sighed and nodded before following Malfoy.

 

 “Have you been given a tour of the manor yet?” Zabini asked Callidus, once Harry and Malfoy had left.

 

Callidus shook his head.  “No.”

 

Zabini tsked.  “Such dreadful manners on Malfoy’s part.  Well, Pansy?  Daphne?  Nott?  Shall we show him around?”

 

 “And miss out on seeing the cream of society get increasingly drunk and making fools of themselves?” Parkinson replied.  “I think not.”

 

 “Is my company no longer sufficient to keep you entertained?” Zabini asked Pansy, a playful smile pulling at his lips.

 

Parkinson rolled her eyes and batted his arm gently.  “Your company is always a pleasure, Blaise.  But my parents are here.  I have to keep an eye on things.”  A look seemed to pass between Parkinson and Zabini, and Zabini nodded, his expression curiously intense and serious.  But once they broke eye contact, the demeanour of amused detachment returned.

 

 “This is boring.  I’ll come,” Nott said.  Zabini nodded.  

 

 “I’ll keep Pansy company,” Greengrass said, though Callidus had a feeling that she was just adverse to his presence, rather than actually wanting to stand around the reception hall.

 

Callidus cast a quick glance towards McGonagall.  She appeared distracted by her discussion with Slughorn (who had pulled in a few Ministry officials in to join their discussion).  Standing around the reception hall, waiting for Harry to return sounded about as interesting as watching Gryffindors trying to do homework (that is to say, painful), so he agreed.

 

When they left the reception hall and entered into a quiet corridor, Zabini gave Callidus and Theo a half-smile and spoke.  “It’s a relief to get out of there.  I’m not exactly keen on watching my mother ensnaring her fifth husband-to-be.”

 

Callidus arched a black eyebrow, but Zabini offered no further elaboration.

 

 “Still sounds better than life at my house,” Nott said, but like Zabini, he did not provide any more information.  But this was expected - Nott was one of the quietest of all their peers.

 

The three boys walked the length of the corridor in silence.  Like the reception hall, it was lit with elegant candles, but there was much less illumination here.  Callidus found his thoughts occupied by Zabini’s and Nott’s brief comments.  Combined with what little Parkinson had told him about her family, he got the sense that many of the Slytherins were less than happy with their domestic situation.  It shattered yet another one of his assumptions about the people around him - just because they were wealthy purebloods, it didn’t mean that their lives were better, or that they were any happier.

 

 “There’s another drawing room up ahead,” Zabini said.  “Care to take a look?”

 

Callidus nodded, and he followed the other boy into a drawing room that was even larger and more extravagant than the one they had flooed into.  It had an enormous marble mantlepiece, with a gilded mirror on top, and the furniture looked stately and ornate.  It was clear that the room was used to impress more ‘important’ guests.

 

 “Boring,” Nott muttered.  

 

Zabini smirked.  “The most interest parts of the manor are well protected by spells, and are accessible only by family,” Zabini replied.

 

 “Like what?” Callidus asked, his curiosity piqued.  With the brotherhood ritual, would he be able to access these areas, meant only for the Malfoys?

 

Zabini gave him a mysterious smile.  “Their private library, for one.  And whatever room they keep their powerful heirlooms and artefacts in.”

 

 “You seem to know a lot about the manor,” Callidus said neutrally.

 

Zabini shrugged.  “There are only so many pureblood families, and the wizarding world isn’t a large one - not in Britain at least.  We tend to be a tight knit group.”

 

 “You said there’s a private library - so there must be a public one?”  Callidus asked.  Nott seemed to perk up at the mention of the library.

 

Zabini rolled his eyes.  “I should have known better than to wander off with the two most bookish Slytherins of our year.”

 

Callidus looked at Nott in slight surprise.  He never paid much attention to the weedy boy - Nott had a tendency to disappear into the landscape, and all without the aid of a Camouflage Potion.  It was just easy to forgot that Nott was ever there.  But now that he thought about it, it was true that Nott often walked around with a book in hand. 

 

Zabini sighed.  “This way,” he said, leading Callidus along the corridor, turning a corner, and making his way to the enormous set of doors at the end.

 

The library doors were slightly open, and the boys pushed the immense doors and made their way inside.  Like the Hogwarts library, the Malfoy library was impressive, but in a different way.  There weren’t quite as many books (but that said, there were still a lot of books).  Rather, the Malfoy library, like the rest of the manor, was the very image of unrestrained luxury.  This room, like the others they had seen, had an enormous fireplace, and the mantle was sculpted with scrolling flourishes, and what looked like dragons.  The library looked to have three levels, and the ceiling was so high that Callidus was getting a crick in his neck from looking up at it.  Balconies ringed each of the levels.

 

 “Don’t tell me you plan to spend the rest of the party here,” Zabini drawled.

 

Callidus shook his head.  It was tempting, but if he cracked open a book, it was probable that he wouldn’t leave.

 

 “Where’s the private library?” Callidus asked.

 

Zabini’s dark eyes lit up with interest.  “Why do you ask?  Think you could sneak your way in?”

 

 “Don’t try it, mate,” Nott muttered.  “Unless you fancy losing consciousness for the rest of the night, and waking up covered in burns and boils.”

 

Zabini groaned.  “Don’t give it away Nott.”

 

Nott simply shrugged, while Callidus looked at him in surprise.  He had never given Nott a reason to be nice to him, and Callidus didn’t know what to make of the warning.

 

 “How do you know where the private library is if you’re not even allowed to access it?” Callidus asked the other two.

 

 “Malfoy showed us a long time ago,” Zabini replied.  “Or I should say, he was trying to show off.  Anyhow, one of the bookshelves is a secret door.” Zabini shrugged.  “Not very original.”

 

Zabini walked towards one of the walls, trailed by Nott and Callidus.  He scanned the bookshelves, looking for something.

 

 “There - that figurine of a dragon,” Zabini said, pointing to the elegant onyx sculpture.  “You have to stroke it’s head, and it’ll show you the door.”

 

Callidus stepped towards the figurine, which was close to eye level.  He reached out a hand.

 

 “Are you really that stupid?” Zabini asked, sounding almost alarmed.

 

Callidus looked towards the dark boy and gave him a knowing smile.  It was a bit foolhardy to take a risk like this.  But the house elf had said that the Malfoy manor recognized him as being kin.  He just wanted to see if it was true or not.

 

 “If anything happens to me, tell McGonagall,” Callidus murmured, before reaching out and touching the cool surface of the dragon’s head.  His body was taut with tension, expecting the worst.  Nothing happened.

 

 “There!” Nott exclaimed, pointing.  The two boys looked across the room, and one of the bookshelves had vanished, leaving an opening in the wall.

 

 “I can’t believe it,” Zabini muttered.

 

 “Should we?” Nott asked, sounding hopeful and as interested as Callidus felt.  The allure of rare books pulled them forwards.  The feeling of doing something forbidden had the three boys creeping along, darting cautious glances towards the library doors.

 

 “Maybe they changed the location of the private library,” Zabini speculated.  “I don’t see how Prince could have possibly opened the door.”

 

The trio peeked through the entryway.  Beyond was a large room, but it felt much cozier than the public library.  The walls were lined from floor to ceiling with books, and the air smelled of old parchment and bindings.  Callidus focused on his magical sensitivity, and he felt a thrum of ominous dark magic from the room, that made his guts coil with unease.

 

The sound of clicking footsteps broke the silence, and the boys jumped in surprise, pulling away from the private room.  They shared nervous glances, and looked towards the library doors.  Behind them, the bookshelf reappeared,  hiding the secret entrance.

 

 “Let’s get out of here,” Zabini muttered, feeling rattled.  Neither Callidus nor Nott argued with him.

 

When they returned to the reception hall, Malfoy and Harry had joined Greengrass and Parkinson.  Callidus was introduced to Malfoy’s parents, and although Lucius Malfoy (thankfully) did not give him a second glance, Narcissa Malfoy played the role of the perfect hostess, both charming and graceful.  In truth, Callidus was glad that Lucius Malfoy had overlooked him.  Though the man radiated an icy politeness, he gave Callidus a bad feeling.  The elder Malfoy had a sort of ambitious hunger in him, and Callidus had a feeling that he would willingly crush anyone who stood in his way - even if that someone was Harry.

 

After a decadent dinner that was fancier than anything that Hogwarts had ever served (with far too many utensils to make sense of), the group of young Slytherins had made their way to the hothouse filled with (well-behaved) magical plants.  They were lounging on the ornate cast iron benches that looked uncomfortable, but were in fact charmed so that felt as though they were sitting on lush, silken pillows.

 

 “Why does everyone have to wear formal robes if this is supposed to be a casual party?” Harry griped, pulling at the collar of his formal robes.

 

 “Stop that!” Malfoy exclaimed.  “Those are my robes that you’re wrinkling.  And people wear formal robes to Malfoy parties because it’s a reflection of our refinement and our station.”

 

 “Malfoy,” Zabini began. “Did your family change the location of your private library?”

 

 “What are you talking about?” Malfoy asked.

 

Zabini gave Malfoy a long look, before shrugging.

 

 “If this is a casual party, then what are formal parties like?” Harry asked.

 

 “Formal parties include older traditions,” Malfoy explained.  “There are particular ways that you’re supposed to dress - beyond formal robes - and particular ways that you need to address people.  The Old Ways are taken into account during formal parties - they often take place during days of significance, or nights when the planets are aligned a certain way.  Customs and rituals are particularly important - for example, the feast blessings, or the ritual dances.  That’s not to say that formal parties are stuffy - but unless you’re born into wizarding culture, it can be hard to understand.  I suppose one could say that formal parties are highly ceremonial.”

 

 “That sounds - pretty interesting actually,” Harry admitted.

 

Malfoy lit up.  “It is.”  He smiled widely.  “I’d be happy to tell you more.”

 

The Slytherins ended up being drawn into a discussion about Old Traditions, until McGonagall came to fetch them to bring them back to Hogwarts.  McGonagall looked like someone who had just been forced to perform the twelve labours of Hercules, but Harry and Callidus ended up enjoying themselves, and were almost reluctant to leave.   Nonetheless, when the trio of boys returned to their dormitories and climbed into bed, they fell asleep as soon as their heads hit the pillow.


	26. Chapter 26

The rest of the winter break passed by in a blur.  Callidus learned from Harry that the other boy would be meeting up with Lucius Malfoy again to plan an interview for the _Daily Prophet._  Harry remained uneasy about the whole notion, and constantly spoke about trying to back out, but then Malfoy would remind him of how terrible his muggle relatives were, and Harry would once again agree.

 

But Callidus felt uncomfortable about the whole thing as well.  It was one thing when it was just an abstract idea that Malfoy was talking about.  But having met the Lucius Malfoy, Callidus couldn’t help wondering what the older man’s ulterior motives were.  Though their introduction had been brief, Callidus could tell that the elder Malfoy was a Slytherin down to the core - someone like Lucius Malfoy would not do something for nothing.  But speaking to the younger Malfoy offered no hints, and eventually, Callidus forced himself to let the matter go.  If Harry could get away from the horrible muggles, then that was for the best, right?

 

Callidus resolved to speak to Dumbledore about the whole matter.  But before long, it was the start of the new term, and thoughts of Granger flooded Callidus’s mind, causing him such anxiety and stress that other matters fell by the wayside.  

 

There was an atmosphere of both excitement for the new term, as well as melancholy (for those who were homesick, or at least dreading more months of school work).  But while Callidus, Harry, and Malfoy spent much of their break lounging about, and making themselves sick with too much chocolate, the Weasley twins had been busy planning mischief.  Fred and George Weasley had been, in part, dismayed to be caught by the trio’s prank, but a greater part of them felt the invigorating effects of a new rivalry, driving them towards creating bigger and more dramatic pranks than ever before.  After all, they had a reputation to maintain, and it would be an ignominious fate to let themselves be bested by a trio of first years.

 

So, before the first week of the new term was even halfway through, (during which Callidus spent far too many hours debating how best to approach Granger), the twins struck.  Unlike the previous prank, this one was greater in scale, and it was simultaneously horrifying to the professors, while being delightfully amusing to the students.

 

The Slytherins were on their way to the first class of the day (that being Charms), after a noisier-than-usual breakfast in the Great Hall.

 

 “What’s going on?” Malfoy had asked when they sat down at the Slytherin table, unsettled by the buzzing energy.  This question was (of course) directed at Parkinson.

 

Parkinson smirked.  “You’ll find out soon enough.  But, since I take pride in being the first to know things, I’ll give you a hint.  Or three.  Weasley twins.  Portraits.  Grand Staircase.”

 

Their Charms classroom was on the third floor, and they would indeed have to take the Grand Staircase to get there, seeing as these stairs enabled access to all seven floors (as well as the dungeons) of Hogwarts.  When they Slytherins gathered their bookbags and made their way towards the magical (and oftentimes unpredictable) moving stairs, they found the way blocked by a mass of students, laughing, pushing and noisily pointing.

 

The students were slowly making their way up the stairs, but none of them carried that determined air of direction.  Rather, they were gazing towards the portraits, chortling with mirth, and making no effort whatsoever to actually get to classes.

 

 “Stop ogling, you mammering fly-bitten boar-pigs!” one of the portraits exclaimed, which set of a round of tittering from the students around it.  The figure of the portrait was an older man, with a dignified bearing and a red-face.  He was clenching his jaw with tense rage, as though unable to believe his own words, and his left eye seemed to twitch uncontrollably.

 

 “I’ve never seen such a hideous bunch of mewling bunglers.  You all have maggots for wits!” said another portrait - this one a pretty young lady in Georgian gowns, who burst out in tears after the words left her mouth.

 

 “The whole lot of you ought to be ashamed of your staring, you misbegotten boil-brained barnacles!”  exclaimed a sleepy-eyed old man, with a beard that could put Dumbledore to shame.

 

Having caught on, the Slytherins were snorting with amusement.  They had no idea how the Weasley twins did it, but somehow, they had charmed the portraits in the Grand Staircase to spew insults at whoever came their way.  And not just any insults, but the most ridiculous sounding, archaic insults one could imagine.

 

 “I didn’t even know you had words like that in your vocabulary, Friar Almer!” one of the older students called out to one of the portraits.

 

 “Shut your feculent gob!  Your mother was a yeasty strumpet and your father was a rutting foot-licker!” the Friar snapped.  This had many of the students doubled-over in teary-eyed laughter.

 

 “STUDENTS, OFF TO CLASS NOW!” McGonagall’s stern voice cut through the helpless mirth of the students (thanks to the _sonorus_ charm).  “WHOMEVER IS STILL LINGERING HERE IN FIVE MINUTES TIME WILL BE GIVEN DETENTION FOR A MONTH!  FRED AND GEORGE WEASLEY, MY OFFICE, NOW!!”

 

The threat of detention was serious enough that the students quickly dispersed, and all of them (except the most diligent swots and Ravenclaws) were late to class.  But to all the Professors’ dismay, all anyone could talk about were the charmed portraits in the Grand Staircase, who had lost control of their own mouths, and were helplessly insulting all who passed their way.

 

In the end, the Weasley twins had to suffer a long grueling month of detention with a gleeful-looking Filch.  But that didn’t stop the glow of pride that emanated from the twins (nor the cheers that were constantly sent their way from admiring students).  Furthermore, the twins refused to reveal the secret of how they got the poor figures in the portraits to lose control of their own mouths.  It was sophisticated magic (though the Professors obviously would not say this to the twin’s faces).

 

Later that week, Callidus finally found the courage to attempt to speak to Granger (who had been noticeably cold towards him ever since returning for the new term).  He couldn’t fault her for her coldness, but it made it that much more difficult to have to speak to her.  Granger’s spent as much time in the library as ever.  In December, it had been Callidus who had been avoiding that section of the castle (and whenever he was there, he had been careful to avoid Granger’s eye.)  Thus, returning to the library to find her almost felt like an intrusion of her space.

 

With trepidation, he saw her at her usual table, and sat down next to her.  She looked over at him and blinked, before pursing her lips and looking back down at her books, determined to ignore him.

 

 “Granger -” he began uneasily.

 

She didn’t look up from her book.  Instead, she picked up her quill and began taking notes on her parchment.  If he hadn’t been so upset with himself, he would have been offended at her blatant attempt to disregard him - especially when he was already feeling vulnerable and uncomfortable.

 

 “Listen, I want to explain myself,” Callidus continued.  The scratching of her quill stopped, and she cocked her head, but didn’t turn towards him.  Now that he knew that he had her ear, the words that he had wanted to say dried up in his mouth.  He wasn’t a Hufflepuff or a Gryffindor.  He was used to language being a sort of power-play - a tool of manipulation to get what one wanted.  And as Parkinson had said, being Slytherin was about achieving one’s desires, wasn’t it?  But he didn’t want a friendship of artifice with Granger - he didn’t need another relationship based on unspoken conditions.  In truth, having known Lily, and then Harry, he wanted something like that: a sort of friendship where a person could be true to him or herself, where there were no daggers waiting to stab someone in the back.  The Slytherin in him wanted to have it all - intellectual connection, trust, genuinity.  And as it had been with Lily, he had a feeling that straight-forward honesty would be best, no matter how uncomfortable he felt.

 

 “About what happened in December -” Callidus said, sighing at the weight of his words.  “I shouldn’t have done that - stop speaking to you without explaining things.”

 

Granger tightened the grip on her quill, and it looked close to snapping.  “I can venture a guess why,” she said, her voice cold.  “I haven’t forgotten the last conversation we had.  I’m surprised you’re even speaking to me now.  Don’t you worry about what the other Slytherins would think of you?”  He could hear a biting bitterness in her voice.

 

 “Kind of, yes,” he admitted quietly.  “But there are things more important than the opinions of Slytherins.”

 

 “Like what?”

 

 “Friends?”

 

 “You have friends,” Granger replied flatly.  “Harry Potter and Draco Malfoy.”

 

Callidus shifted uncomfortably in his seat.  “Yes, but I’d also - erm - I’d like to be friends with you as well.”  Once the words left his mouth, he felt ridiculous and foolish.  He could feel a burning heat in his face, and couldn’t bring himself to look over at Granger.  A long and awkward silence thickened the space between them.  Callidus felt so antsy that he was tempted to simply dash off, but he forced himself to remain in place.

 

 “I’ll have to think about it,” Granger eventually said.  Her quill started scratching on the parchment again, and it was obvious that he had been dismissed.  Feeling wrung out, he stood, and left the library on shaky legs, wondering if he had done the right thing.

 

In truth, Granger’s reaction wasn’t what he expected.  He was so accustomed to Lily’s hot rages, and quick forgiveness - he didn’t know what to think of Granger’s measured answers.  He hated feeling as though he were somehow in her power, but at least some of the guilt had lifted, and he could let himself think of other things (like school, and maybe, just maybe, pranks).

 

Because Defence classes were so painful (and useless), the duelling club was turning out to be one of the highlights of the school year.  Not only was it interesting, but it helped Callidus to work off his feelings of tension.  Professor Flitwick oversaw the general workings of the club, but meetings and practices were delegated to the volunteers.  Thus, the first to fourth year Slytherins met up every Thursday evening in an empty classroom, with Wystan as their guide.  It mystified Callidus, how Wystan even found the time for both his school work, as well as his extra-curricular activities, but somehow, the seventh year managed.

 

 “Today, we’ll be working on the Tongue-tying curse, the cushioning charm, and  _ Petrificus Totalus _ , depending on your skill level,” Wystan said to the group of Slytherins, who were sitting atop the desks pushed to the edges of the classroom.

 

 “Cushioning charm?” one of the second years asked.

 

 “Believe me, you really don’t want to be on the receiving end of a  _ Petrificus Totalus _ without a friend who can cast a cushioning charm beneath you,” Wystan replied wryly.

 

The first year Slytherins shared looks of anticipation.  The offensive and defensive spells that they were learning in the dueling club were more advanced than anything that was covered during class.  Furthermore, it was fun being able to spend a couple of hours focusing solely on wand work, rather than having to go through the theory (even if the theory interested Callidus.)

 

Since Wystan didn’t want the first years to start on the other new spells until they mastered the cushioning charm, they all worked independently to create a soft surface on the hard floor (which they had to test out themselves.)  Before long, the first and second years were casting cushioning charms on the floor, and gleefully flinging themselves upon the soft surface, to Wystan’s amusement.  Harry was the most daring of all, casting a cushioning charm across the room, while taking a running leap towards it.  It was undignified yes, but what happened between Slytherins stayed between Slytherins.  It was more important to maintain a decorous air around the other Houses.

 

 “He has a strong intuitive grasp of magic,” Wystan said to Callidus, as they watched Harry throwing cushioning charms.  “It will be interesting to see what he makes of himself.”

 

Callidus smirked.  “Keeping an eye out for talent?  Just don’t get fat or you’ll turn into Slughorn.”

 

 “Ugh - that’s a horrible mental image,” Wystan groaned.  “I didn’t need to imagine that.  And besides, I told you, I’m not as limited as Slughorn when it comes to who I befriend.  Slughorn has no subtlety.  Shouldn’t you be practicing your spells?”

 

 “You’re the one who started talking to me,” Callidus replied with amusement.

 

Wystan rolled his eyes.  Once Callidus had returned to practicing his spellwork, Wystan raised his voice to get the club’s attention.  “Listen up,” he called out.  “Let’s try something a little more challenging.  I want everyone to divide into two teams.  We’ll play a game.  We can call it - uh - Trip jinx and Cushioning Charms.”

 

 “Very original,” one of the second years said wryly.

 

Wystan chuckled with amusement.  “Hey, I’m making this up as I go along, yeah?  Rules are simple.  Points are scored if you trip someone on the opposite team, but only if that team fails to cast a localized cushioning charm to protect the tripper.”

 

 “Sounds like this’ll be a mad free-for-all.”

 

Wystan smiled mischievously.  “Maybe.  It’ll be a good way to test your reflexes.”

 

 “This is  _ not _ dueling,” Malfoy complained.

 

 “Scared?” Callidus mocked.

 

 “I just think it’s undignified,” Malfoy replied with a sniff of disdain.

 

 “I think it sounds like fun,” Harry said with a grin.

 

 “Okay, everyone.  Split up!” Wystan ordered.  Once the teams were divided, Wystan changed the colours of their robes so that it was green versus silver.  Just as predicted, the game turned out to be chaotic mayhem.  With their penchant for sneakiness, the Slytherins kept trying to trip the opposite team into falling against the desks pushed against the wall.  Plenty of underhanded tactics were used, but Wystan just looked on with amusement - after all, as long as no serious harm came to the students, he wasn’t too worried.  There was no question that it was thrilling to test their casting against each other, and even though most of the Slytherins came out bruised and battered after the game, they couldn’t help but feel that they had accomplished something.  

 

Callidus also continued his potion meetings with Wystan, though they were less frequent than before. Callidus still visited the potions lab several times a week.  But although Wystan was supposed to supervise Callidus whenever he was in the lab, the older boy had learned to trust Callidus’s ability enough to let him work on his own.  Wystan was busy after all, so he usually came by once every other week (or if Callidus specifically requested his aid.)  Fortunately, Slughorn was too lazy to ever check up on either Wystan or Callidus.

 

Hoping to discover information related to his potion project that he had been contemplating since the fall, Callidus had looked over the book that Malfoy had given him about Old Magic and Potions.  Back in ancient times, when magic was wilder, and control of it was less refined, animal sacrifices were in fact quite common, and were often used for divination or potions.  Magical animals in particular, were significant potion ingredients (but of course, catching and killing them was often difficult).  He also learned that fresh killed animals made more potent potions, and the longer a period of time that the creature had died, the weaker the resulting potion would be.  

 

Callidus maintained his discipline of spending his free moments exercising his magical sensitivity, and lately, had moved on to attempting to detect the magic in living creatures.  As he spent more time sensing the magical properties in living creatures, what he discovered was both fascinating and remarkable.  With his experiments using insects, he noticed that parts harvested from live insects differed from the same parts harvested from dead insects.  And if he took a wing off a fly while the fly was still alive, then the part of the creature (such as the wing, or leg) remained somehow connected to the creature itself.

 

What’s more, the things that happened to the creature affected their missing part.  This effect was more pronounced on mammals, who were more emotive, and vulnerable to pain or pleasure.  Callidus learned that if he took a whisker from a dead mouse, the properties of that whisker remained static.  If he took the whisker from a living mouse, and then fed that same mouse some pumpkin juice, the whisker took on a lighter and fuller quality.  If he then tormented the mouse, through loud noises, or sleep deprivation, the whisker took on a darker, heavier quality.

 

And finally, if he did something to physically harm or maim the mouse, the whisker took on a darker, heavier and substantially more powerful quality.  That same ingredient could amplify the properties of certain potions - and through experimentation, he learned that harmful potions were made even more harmful, or malevolent potions more malevolent.  It was simultaneously thrilling, and maybe a bit disturbing.  But he was a Slytherin, and the ends justified the means.

 

 “From the look on your face, I’m guessing you’ve accomplished a particularly difficult potion?” Wystan said, when they met in Potions Lab nine.  

 

 “Better,” Callidus replied with a grin.  “A new discovery, I think.  I haven’t come across the concept in any of the books I’ve read, and I’ve scoured a lot of books.”

 

 “Oh?” Wystan lit up with interest.  “A discovery?  I’m almost afraid to believe it.  Especially since you’re still a first year - you put the rest of us to shame.”

 

 “Well, I suppose not everyone can be as brilliant in potions as me,” Callidus quipped.

 

Wystan snorted and rolled his eyes.  “So?  Are you going to tell me about this fantastic new discovery?”

 

Callidus hummed.  “I believe I’ve discovered a way to amplify the strength of potions, using the same ingredients.  Though, thus far, it has only worked for - erm - Darker sort of potions.”

 

 “Darker?  Oh.  Oh!  I see.  If your findings turn out to be true, that’s - Merlin - that’d be incredible.”  Wystan gave him a speculative look.  “You’re still testing your findings?”

 

 “Yes, but with the ingredients I’m working with, the potions need either mouse, rat or bird parts.  Small birds,” Callidus explained.  “So it’s a bit limiting.”

 

Wystan hummed in contemplation.  “I’m aware of a potion that you might be able to use for your tests.”

 

 “Oh?”

 

 “Makes use of rat eyes,” Wystan continued.  Inwardly, Callidus winced.  A potion that required eyes (especially eyes of a live animal), was bound to be messy.  But on the other hand, Callidus was intrigued - unless one had access to the restricted section, it was difficult to find malignant potions.  And while adult-Severus’s collection had quite a number of Dark potions, most of them made use of rarer ingredients that were not very accessible.

 

 “What potion?  Do you have the recipe?”  Callidus asked.

 

Wystan nodded.  “I’ve brewed it myself too.  It’s effective, but not very long lasting.  It’s - uh - a Will-Weakening Draught.”

 

 “Will-weakening?  So it weakens one’s volition.”

 

 “Yes, essentially,” Wystan replied.

 

 “Dare I ask why you need a Will-Weakening Potion?” Callidus arched a black eyebrow.

 

 “Dare you?” Wystan gave Callidus a smile that left a shiver running down his spine.  “If you’re willing, I’ll even field test the results of your potion for you.”

 

That offer was too good to resist.  “Deal,” Callidus replied, determined to never get on Wystan’s bad side.

 

Aside from his personal research, Callidus was also starting on another potions project, but this one was prank related.  Inspired by the Weasley twin’s triumph of a prank, Callidus, Harry and Malfoy were determined to try another prank of their own.  In truth, Malfoy was the most enthusiastic about pranking - the blond had some innate drive to make his mark, even if the means was through mischief.  He seemed to see pranks as a form of power-play, and liked the idea of inflicting his magic on people against their will.  Harry was more reluctant to do anything that could harm others, but if it appealed to his sense of playfulness and fun, then Harry was as enthusiastic as Malfoy.  As for Callidus, he enjoyed the challenge of the projects (and there was no denying that all the prank-related research provided excellent practice of new spells and potions.)  Already, Callidus, Harry and Malfoy were seeing improvements in the practical component of their classes, due to all their pranking experiments and research.


	27. Chapter 27

It had been nearly a week since Callidus spoke to Granger.  He was spending more time in the library, and whenever he saw her, he would give her a polite nod, which she returned.  But there was never anything more to indicate that she wished to speak to him, or that she was even considering his offer for friendship.  In truth, he still felt horribly embarrassed by that encounter.  It had been so awkward, and uncomfortable, and he felt like a fumbling idiot for asking for friendship.  It’s not as though he had asked Harry, or Malfoy for friendship.  He hadn’t asked Lily for friendship either - it just happened.  He wished he could forget that the whole thing even happened.  Granger probably had no desire for friendship, and he convinced himself that it was best to forget about the whole matter.

 

Callidus was walking through the corridors on the way to the library (as was often the case), absent-mindedly tallying up the amount ingredients he would need for the Will-Weakening Draught, when he turned a corner and slammed into another student.  He was assailed by brown hair, and the fall of books and quills.  Bending down to pick up a stray quill, he straightened up and looked towards the girl in front of him - something about her pulled at his memory.

 

 “Lisa Turpin,” he said, identifying the Ravenclaw.  The brunette looked up at him in surprise.  The pair of them had never spoken before, despite having History of Magic together.

 

 “Yes?” she replied cautiously, as she stuffed the remaining books into her rucksack.

 

 “I saw you speaking to Granger - er - Hermione Granger.”

 

Turpin paled, and looked around the corridor nervously before turning her narrowed eyes back at him.  “I have nothing to do with Hermione,” she hissed.

 

Callidus raised his eyebrows.  “Strong reaction for something you describe as ‘nothing.’”

 

 “You don’t understand,” the brunette said angrily.  She tried to brush past him, but he reached out and grabbed her sleeve.

 

 “Let go of me!” she hissed. 

 

 “Tell me why you were speaking to Granger,” Callidus replied, his voice low and silky with quiet threat.

 

 “I don’t speak to Hermione.  I have no reason to speak to her,” the girl replied, quiet and tense.

 

Callidus hummed.  “Since speaking quietly is getting us nowhere, maybe I ought to speak up.  Maybe you aren’t hearing my question properly, and I just need to be a bit louder.”

 

 “No!” Turpin exclaimed.  “Fine!  I’ll tell you.  But if you reveal this to anyone, I’ll come back and hex you blind.  Not here though.”

 

Turpin walked further up the corridor until she came to an empty classroom, slipping inside with Callidus behind her.  Once the door was shut behind them, they turned to look at each other.  Turpin had her arms crossed and a hostile expression on her face, while Callidus maintained his cold and collected demeanour. 

 

 “So?” Callidus asked expectantly.

 

 “So yes, you’re right.  I have been speaking to Hermione.  We’re not  _ friends _ or anything,” Turpin spat out.

 

Callidus’s eyes narrowed.  “Then what are you?”

 

 “She just - helps me with some things,” Turpin said, reluctantly.

 

 “Help - are you trying to tell me that she tutors you?”

 

Turpin flushed, and glared at him with resentful anger.  “You don’t know what it’s like in Ravenclaw.  You don’t know how high expectations are.  It’s not like I wanted to be in that House.  But the Turpin family has a reputation to maintain as a long line of Ravenclaws.  I hate it!  I hate it!!  So yes, Granger tutors me.  And no, no one knows about it.  And don’t look at me like that, Prince.  It’s not like you’re any better - talking to her only when all your other Slytherin friends are gone, like she’d some dirty little secret.”

 

Callidus’s emotions went from bewildered, to angry, and finally to ashamed.  He opened his mouth to defend himself - to argue that he had changed - but had he?  He wanted to befriend Granger, but it’s not as though he had ever spoken of her to Harry or Malfoy.  And when he sat down with her in the library, maybe he subconsciously only did so when no Slytherins were around. 

 

 “Anyway, now you know, so leave me alone!” Turpin snarled.  “And don’t you dare tell anybody about this, or I’ll tell the whole school that you’re in love with that know-it-all nobody, Hermione, and none of the Slytherins’ll ever respect you again.”  Turpin shoved past him, flinging open the classroom door, and storming out.

 

Callidus stood in place, stunned by Turpin’s tirade.  Whatever he had been expecting, it wasn’t  _ that _ .  The conversation made him feel confused, outraged and guilty, all in an unsettling jumble of bad feelings.  He had been intending to go to the library, but at the moment, his desire to be alone was too strong.  Callidus ended up wandering blindly through the corridors, until he ended up in front of the door that used to be his adult-self’s old rooms.  What would Severus have done?  From the sounds of it, his old life had been lonely.

 

Callidus returned to the Slytherin dungeons, troubled and morose.  He was surprised to see Harry sitting at the sofa by himself, practicing wand movements.

 

 “Hi, Cal,” Harry said, with an upwards quirk of his lips when he noticed Callidus.

 

 “Hi.  Where’s Malfoy?”  Callidus sat on the sofa, resting his elbows on his knees, and looking towards Harry questioningly.

 

Harry rolled his eyes.  “When are you going to start calling him Draco?  Seeing as we’re  _ brothers _ now, don’t you think that makes sense?”

 

Callidus shrugged.  “I will when he call me by my name.”  He said this, assuming Malfoy would never call him by name.

 

Harry snorted.  “Draco says the exact same thing.  It’s ridiculous.  Anyhow, he’s in the dorm, writing a letter to his mum.”

 

Callidus raised an eyebrow.

 

 “Draco doesn’t like anyone to see what he writes his mum, for some reason.”

 

 “You don’t think he’s telling her about our brotherhood, do you?”

 

Harry shook his head.  “No, he said he wouldn’t.  Not after his dad got mad at him when he mentioned being wanting to brothers with Vincent and Gregory ages ago.”  Harry hummed.  “Is something bothering you?  You look - erm -”

 

 “No,” Callidus replied automatically, to which Harry gave him a bewildered look before nodding.  But after a moment of uncomfortable silence, Callidus changed his mind.  “Well, actually yes.”  Callidus wrung his hands, as Harry waited for him to speak.

 

 “It’s about Granger - uh, Hermione Granger.”

 

 “What about her?”

 

Now that he had started the discussion, Callidus had no idea what he would say.  Anything he revealed would make him sound like an idiot, and it had felt like far too long since he had the chance to speak to Harry on his own.  Callidus looked over at Harry, but all he could see was open curiosity on the other boy’s face.

 

 “You don’t think she’s the one trying to hurt you, do you?”  Harry asked.  “I thought you said she was too nice for that.”

 

 “No!” Callidus exclaimed.  “No, she’s most certainly not the one who has been causing all the accidents.  It’s -” Callidus felt his face heating up.  Saying it out loud would sound so stupid.

 

 “What would you think if I was friends with Granger?” Callidus asked.

 

Harry looked mildly confused.  “Are you?  I know most Slytherins don’t like Gryffindors, though they really aren’t that bad.”  Harry bit his lower lip, his expression thoughtful.  “Though now that I think about it, I s’pose it makes sense.  She’s a know-it-all, and you’re the smartest person I know.”

 

 “We’re not exactly friends,” Callidus continued.  “She’s rather - upset with me.”

 

 “Why?” Harry asked, bewildered.  “I’ve never seen you two speak.  Unless - in the library?”

 

Callidus nodded, staring down at the floor so that his hair obscured his face.

 

 “What is she upset about?  Did you insult her?”  Harry asked.

 

 “I didn’t insult her,” Callidus huffed.  “Well, not directly.  Though I suppose I did offend her.”

 

They fell silent for a moment, Callidus looking back down at the floor, while Harry examined his friend.

 

 “Is that why you've been so distracted and off since December?”  Harry asked.

 

Callidus winced, fretting about how his emotions had been so obvious, yet hating to have to admit to it.  “Yeah.  She’s not really speaking to me right now, though.”

 

 “So -” Harry started, his expression troubled, “Why do you want to be friends with her so much?”

 

 “What do you mean?  What’s wrong with being friends with Granger?”

 

 “I mean -” Harry sighed, worrying his lip as he tried to sort his thoughts.  “We’re brothers now.  But you seem to keep to yourself in a lot of ways.  I kinda reckoned that that’s just how you are, being busy with potions and all that stuff.  But you don’t really talk to me the same way that Draco does.”

 

 “I’m not Malfoy.”

 

 “That’s not what I mean.”  Harry frowned.  “Now that I think about it, we don’t seem to talk much - one-on-one that is.  I can’t really tell what you think sometimes.  I just wonder if you think Hermione would be a better friend for you than I am.”

 

 “What?  You think - that I’m trying to replace you or something?”

 

Harry shrugged, looking a bit like a kicked crup.

 

 “I’m not trying to replace you,” Callidus said, reassuringly.  “It’s just - you do spend a lot of time with Draco - especially since you both love flying and I - well - don’t.”

 

 “You think I don’t spend enough time with you?”

 

Callidus considered the question.  Once, he might have been happy at the opportunity to pull Harry away from Malfoy.  But now the three of them were incontrovertibly linked as brothers.  He didn’t like Malfoy the same way that he liked Harry, but Callidus couldn’t deny to himself that he actually kind of _ liked _ Malfoy now. 

 

 “It doesn’t bother me - really,” Callidus reassured Harry, feeling mildly surprised to know that he was telling the truth.  “I wouldn’t ask you to give up flying.  It wouldn’t be much of an exaggeration to say that you’re pretty much born to fly.”

 

Harry grinned widely at this.

 

 “It’s not like I find Granger easier to talk to than you or Draco,” Callidus continued.  “But I can speak to her about things that wouldn’t interest either you or Draco.  It isn’t as though I want to spend  _ all _ my time with her -” Callidus wrinkled his nose at the thought.

 

Harry chuckled with amusement.  “All right then.  You just want to talk to someone who is as much of a swot as you.”

 

 “Essentially,” Callidus confirmed.

 

Harry hummed.  “I know!  I’ll help you!”

 

Callidus looked back up at Harry.  “What?”

 

 “Yeah!  Come on!  The library is still open, right?”  Harry stood up, and tugged at Callidus’s arm, all but dragging him out of the common room, towards the library.

 

 “What are you doing, Harry?  What do you have in mind?”

 

 “I don’t know.  We’ll figure it out as we go along,” Harry replied, which did nothing to reassure Callidus.  Callidus let himself be led by Harry, feeling a mixture of alarm, and deja vu.  This sort of impulsive gesture was exactly the sort of thing that Lily would have done.  And just like with Lily, Callidus felt himself helplessly drawn along, his good sense abandoned.

 

 “I don’t know about this, Harry,” Callidus said, the closer they got to the library.

 

 “Well, it’s better than doing nothing,” Harry replied, pulling him along.  Harry identified Granger by her bushy-hair, and wove his way past the tables to sit down across diagonally from her, while Callidus sat across from her.  Granger looked up at the two of them, her expression a mix of surprise and wariness.

 

 “Hi - er - Hermione, is it?”  Harry said.

 

Granger nodded.  “Hi, Harry,” she said flicking a suspicious glance at Callidus before looking back at Harry.  Harry nudged Callidus’s foot with his own.

 

 “Oh.  Hi, Granger,” Callidus said, awkwardly.

 

 “Hi, Prince,” Granger replied.  “Was there something you wanted?”

 

 “Erm -” Callidus looked over at Harry, unsure of what to say.  If he thought his previous conversation with Granger was uncomfortable, this was worse.

 

Harry looked at him expectantly, his eyebrows raised, and his head tilting towards Granger, trying to urge Callidus to speak.  Callidus glanced at Granger, who also had her eyebrows raised, but it was too hard to meet her eyes so he looked back at Harry.  Harry nudged him with an elbow, and Callidus scowled at him, and then looked guiltily at Granger.  Feeling a rising panic, Callidus stood up, his chair scraping loudly on the library floor, drawing the attention of everyone in the library (including an irritated frown from Madam Pince).  He grabbed Harry by the sleeve, pulled him up, and dashed off, dragging Harry behind him.  Once they were well away from the library, Callidus stopped, waiting for his pulse to slow.

 

 “What was that all about?” Harry asked, mystified.

 

 “What do you mean?  Why did you just drag me in front of her?  I didn’t know what to say!” Callidus exclaimed.

 

Harry frowned.  “Really?  But you always know what to say!”

 

Callidus crossed his arms, and frowned.  “Not this time.”

 

 “Erm - should we go back?” Harry asked.  “We kinda left her sitting there.”

 

 “Are you serious?  She probably thinks we’re completely insane!”

 

 “I didn’t expect you to just run off,” Harry replied, looking at Callidus as though he had never seen him before.

 

 “I didn’t think your plan was to just sit down in front of her,” Callidus retorted.  

 

 “Right,” Harry replied.  “So - what we need is a plan.”

 

 “A plan,” Callidus echoed.

 

Harry nodded.  “Should we follow her around with the Camouflage Potion?” Harry asked.

 

 “What?  Why would we do that?” Callidus exclaimed.

 

Harry shrugged.  “I dunno.  We might learn something.”

 

 “She spends all her time in the library.  You don’t need a Camouflage Potion to know that.”

 

Harry frowned.  It was evident that Harry just wanted another excuse to use Camouflage Potion, and Callidus had just taken away a reason to do so.  And while Harry knew that he could use the Camouflage potion whenever he wanted, Harry preferred to have an actual ‘mission.’  After all, camouflaging for the sake of camouflaging wasn’t actually that fun.

 

 “What if we use the Camouflage Potion to sneak into the Gryffindor Common room?”  Harry suggested.

 

 “Why would we want to sneak into Gryffindor Tower?”  Callidus asked.  “Though it wouldn’t hurt to find out what the Weasley Twins are up to.  But what does that have to do with Granger?”

 

 “She’s a Gryffindor,” Harry explained.

 

 “Yes - but - that doesn’t explain why we’d need to sneak into Gryffindor Tower.  She probably spends all her time there studying.”

 

 “I could ask her why she isn’t speaking to you,” Harry offered.

 

 “No!  I mean, no thank you.  Just -” Callidus shook his head in frustration, wondering how he had gotten into this whole situation.

 

 “We’ll figure something out,” Harry said, consolingly.  

 

Callidus replied with a crooked smile.  As much as a mess as the situation, it still felt good to have Harry’s support.  “Yeah,” he said.

 

 “So what happened?  I mean - you and Hermione.”  Harry asked.  The pair of them were now leaning against the cold stone wall of the corridor - an odd place for a chat, but in a way, it helped to be away from the dungeons.  Callidus looked into Harry’s eyes, so like Lily’s, reminding him that she was gone forever, and yet, in some ways, she’d always be there.  He found himself pouring out the story - what little there was of it, since so much of it was composed of his thoughts and fears and uncertainties.

 

 “I can see why she’d be offended,” Harry said when Callidus was done.

 

Callidus frowned.  “That’s not helpful.”  Nonetheless, Callidus was glad to unburden himself, and he appreciated Harry’s honesty.

 

 “Why don’t we ask Draco for advice?” Harry suggested.

 

Callidus’s face lost all colour.  “He’d mock me forever if he knew.”

 

Harry bit his lower lip.  “He would, wouldn’t he?  But we’re brothers now, so he’d still help you out.”

 

 “Yeah, he would.  But frankly, I’d be afraid to take Malfoy’s advice,” Callidus replied.

 

Harry laughed.  “Well - Draco’s ideas can be outlandish.  But he is good at making things happen.”

 

 “Thanks to his father?”

 

 “Erm - Not all of the time -” 

 

Callidus shook his head, smiling ruefully.  “What would you do if you were in my situation?” Callidus asked.

 

Harry hummed, staring up at the ceiling as he thought.  “I wouldn’t give up.  Not if it’s important, and you really want it.”

 

Callidus smiled crookedly.  “You sound like Parkinson.”

 

 “She may have said something like that to me, a few million times,” Harry replied, a small smile pulling at his lips.  “She gives good advice.  Anyway, let’s get back to the dungeons.”

 

Callidus nodded, feeling drained.  They made their way back to the Slytherin dungeons, speaking easily, as if they had been friends for years, rather than only a few months.  When they entered the common room, the first years were all sitting together at their usual spot.  Callidus and Harry walked over to the sofa.

 

Malfoy had his arms crossed and a pout on his face.  “Where were you Harry?” Malfoy whinged.  “When I left the dorm, no one was here.” 

 

 “Should we be offended, being referred to as no one?” Zabini asked, looking towards Parkinson across from him.

 

Parkinson shrugged.  “You know how obsessed with Harry Draco is.”

 

 “I’m not obsessed,” Malfoy muttered. “I just wanted to know what happened to my  _ friend. _ ”

 

Harry sat next to him, while Callidus squeezed in beside Harry and an exasperated looking Parkinson.

 

 “Erm - I was with Cal,” Harry explained.  Callidus just rolled his eyes, at Malfoy’s spoiled behavior.

 

 “Why didn’t you wait for me?” Malfoy asked. 

 

 “Jealous?” Callidus asked silkily.

 

 “He wouldn’t stop talking about it the entire time,” Parkinson said, with a sly grin.

 

Malfoy pinkened, and turned his face away with a haughty tilt, staring towards the underwater window. 

 

 “Malfoy has yet to learn that people aren’t toys.  Well, not  _ his _ toys at least,” Zabini added.

 

 “I didn’t realize you’d be so upset,” Harry said to Malfoy.

 

 “I’m not upset!” Malfoy exclaimed (though his flushed cheeks said otherwise.)  As Harry and Malfoy began to bicker, Callidus felt a tug on his hair, and he turned to look towards Parkinson.

 

 “You’re using that hair potion today,  _ Cal _ ,” she observed.  “Looks good.”

 

Callidus raised an eyebrow.  “Flattery?  You must want something.”

 

Parkinson rolled her eyes.  “Saving my eyes from your greasy hair is reward enough.  I don’t see why you don’t use it everyday.”

 

Callidus shrugged, and smiled.  “I don’t live my life worrying about your eyes,  _ Pans _ .”

 

Parkinson sniffed.  “Well maybe you should.”


	28. Chapter 28

By this point, Callidus knew better than to assume that Harry would forget about his problems with Granger.  And of course, Callidus was right in his assessment of the situation.  The following day, after a long class of listening to Quirrell stammer about Bowtruckles, the trio headed for the library.  Upon spotting Granger, Harry nudged Callidus.

 

 “Come on, let’s go sit with her,” Harry said.  Before Callidus could protest (and before Malfoy even understood what was happening,) Harry had already sat down at Granger’s table.  With reluctance, Callidus sat next to Granger, while Malfoy just stood and looked at Harry with bewilderment.

 

 “There’s other free tables, Harry,” Malfoy said, looking at Granger as though her very presence would somehow be damaging for his well-being.

 

 “I know,” Harry replied brightly.  “But I want to sit here.  Hi, Hermione.”

 

 “Erm - Hi, Harry,” Granger said, looking at the trio with confusion.  “Hi, Prince.”

 

Callidus flushed, recalling their last, embarrassing encounter.  “Granger,” he said, trying to maintain a dignified nod, in spite of his red face.  “You don’t mind that we’re sitting here?”

 

 “It’s fine,” Granger said.  “But -” She glanced at Malfoy uneasily, and Callidus followed her gaze.  As awkward as he found the whole situation, it still amused him to see Malfoy’s obvious discomfort.

 

 “Why Malfoy,” Callidus drawled.  “From the way you’re standing there, one would think that you were afraid of - Gryffindors.”

 

 “I’m not afraid of -” Malfoy flicked a glance at Granger. “- Gryffindors.”  With a huff, Malfoy pulled out the chair, and sat down, scowling at Callidus.

 

 “Granger,” Malfoy said coldly, tipping his head towards the girl.

 

 “Hello, Malfoy,” Granger replied uneasily.  “You don’t have to sit here if you’re nervous or uncomfortable.”

 

 “I’m not nervous!” Malfoy cried, drawing looks from the other students and a furious glare from Madam Pince.  Aware of all the eyes on him, Malfoy clenched his teeth and glared until the others looked away.

 

Granger blinked rapidly, unsure of what to make of the outburst, while Callidus and Harry quietly sniggered.  The trio pulled their books, parchment and quills from their book bags, setting them on the table.  Harry and Malfoy were working on their star charts for Astronomy, but since Callidus had already finished it, he was occupied with research for his Charms essay.

 

Without thinking, Callidus found himself peering over at Granger’s work.  She was also working on her Charms essay, but had written several more inches than he had.

 

 “Where did you find that piece of information about the modifying area of effect of the softening charm?  I didn’t see it mentioned in the textbook,”  Callidus said, realizing belatedly that he and Granger still weren’t on particularly friendly terms.

 

The movement of Granger’s quill paused, and she looked up at him.  “It’s in the Defence textbook, actually,” Granger replied.  “Since this charm is so closely related to the cushioning charm.”

 

Callidus groaned.  “I can’t believe I didn’t consider that - especially when we were learning the cushioning charm last week in our dueling club.”

 

Harry perked up at the mention of the dueling club.  “Are you in the dueling club, Hermione?” he asked.

 

Granger nodded.  “Yes, I’ve been concerned about Professor Quirrell’s methods of teaching.  He seems uncomfortable with the subject matter, and I thought the dueling club would supplement my education.”

 

Harry grinned. “Quiver’s pretty useless, isn’t he?”

 

 “Quiver?” 

 

 “Er - that’s what we call Quirrell,” Harry replied.

 

 “It isn’t very nice to make fun of teachers,” Granger said, but she couldn’t help the smile playing at her lips.  “Though I have to admit, it’s rather apt.  He is frightfully timid, isn’t he?”

 

 “At least if he sticks to the textbook, all he has to worry about is papercuts,” Callidus interjected.

 

 “I don’t know,” Harry said with amusement.  “He’d probably faint at the sight of blood.”

 

Though it was unexpected, the group managed to relax as they commiserated over the uselessness of Defence classes (and bonded over the merits of the dueling club.)  Admittedly, Malfoy maintained his distance from Granger, directing his conversation to Harry (or throwing his usual gibes at Callidus).  And Granger was polite enough to act as though this was perfectly normal (even when it was clear that Malfoy’s behaviour was quite rude).

 

When the trio later left the library, Malfoy finally felt free to speak his mind.

 

 “Dare I ask why we had to sit with the muggleborn today?” Malfoy asked, his voice sounding a bit strained.

 

 “Seriously, what’s wrong with muggleborns?” Harry asked.  “I know a lot of the Slytherins don’t like them, but Hermione was actually nice.  And really smart - though I s’pose everyone already knows that.”  

 

 “One of the cleverest witches I knew was a muggleborn,” Callidus added, thinking of Lily.  True, that he never actually remembered their years at Hogwarts, but Lily had a very sharp mind, and Slughorn said that she had been very bright.

 

Both Callidus and Harry looked at Malfoy expectantly.  Callidus wondered if Malfoy would reveal his prejudices, while Harry was just curious.  There were only half-bloods and purebloods in Slytherin, and as far as Harry could tell, there wasn’t much difference between them (except that purebloods were more snooty.)

 

 “Muggleborns are -” Malfoy looked up at the ceiling as he tried to find the right words.  “It’s just that breeding with muggles has had a negative effect.  Muggles are -” Malfoy scrunched up his face.

 

 “Muggles are what?”  Harry asked, his green eyes holding a hint of storminess.

 

 “Well, it’s clear that magical beings like witches and wizards are superior to non-magical ones, like muggles,” Malfoy replied.  “Don’t you think it’s better to have magic?”

 

 “I like having magic, yes - but I don’t see how that makes magical beings superior.  It just means that we’re different,” Harry responded.

 

 “That makes no sense,” Malfoy argued. 

 

 “How does it not make sense?  Muggles might not have magic, but they have other things, like cars, and airplanes and electricity,” Harry retorted.

 

 “But magic is better,” Malfoy said firmly.

 

 “Well, then if muggleborns have magic, then aren’t they as good as any other witch or wizard?” Harry suggested.

 

 “No!” Malfoy exclaimed.

 

 “Why not?” Harry queried.  “Hermione is better at magic than a lot of purebloods.  What makes purebloods better than her?  You can’t claim talent, because there’s a lot of purebloods that really aren’t that - erm - smart.”

 

 “Muggleborns don’t understand us!” Malfoy countered.  “They bring in their muggle ways, and don’t care a whit about our traditions.  Muggles are brutish and dangerous, and muggleborns have that innate danger to them.”

 

Harry frowned.  “Well, most of the muggleborns at this school seem nice enough, and not all muggles are brutish - some are quite kind.  And as for traditions, if they don’t understand, why not teach them?  I was raised with muggles, and I didn’t know anything about wizarding traditions until you taught me.”

 

Malfoy opened his mouth, his index finger lifted as if ready to make a point, but then he snapped his mouth shut.  He chewed the inside of his mouth, and knit his brow as he contemplated Harry’s argument.

 

 “That’s a good point,” Callidus said to Harry. “Wizarding culture is fascinating, and I think that given the chance, muggleborns would want to learn.  And some purebloods can be just as brutish as anyone - one only needs to consider Marcus Flint.”

 

Malfoy huffed with frustration.  “My father is better at explaining it than me.”

 

 “Then tell us what your father says about it,” Harry replied.

 

At this, Malfoy flushed - Lucius Malfoy had very strong, negative opinions towards muggleborns, but there was no way that the younger Malfoy would ever repeat his father’s words in Harry’s hearing.  Harry would never forgive him for repeating things about “filthy mudbloods” or “tainted muggle beasts.”

 

 “I can’t really explain it,” Malfoy lied.  “Just forget about it.  Let’s talk about something else - like how we’re going to implement our next prank.”

 

Harry gave Malfoy a searching look, while Malfoy pretended to be bored with the subject of muggleborns.  With a shrug, Harry complied, and the trio fell into a long discussion about the details of their upcoming prank.

 

Once Callidus received the recipe for the Will-Weakening Draught from Wystan, he set to work on the project immediately.  The project leaned towards being rather dark.  It was disturbing to have to harm creatures in order to harness that added magical amplification, but Callidus was dedicated to potions, which took away a great deal of his squeamishness.  Moreover, unlike the muggle world, the values wizarding world were centuries old, and change came slowly.  Something that would be considered unethical in the muggle world, was more acceptable in the wizarding world.

 

He made three versions of the potion - one with standard rat eyes from dead rats, one with rat eyes from a still live rat with minimal suffering, and one from a still live rat that unfortunately had to suffer a great deal.  And if his magical sensing was correct, then the the Will-Weakening Draught made from the rat that suffered the most was indeed more powerful.  However, until Wystan tested it, it would be hard to know for sure.

 

Callidus marked the potions with coloured labels so that when Wystan tested the potions, he wouldn’t know which potion was the weakest and strongest.  

 

 “Are you going to test these all on the same person?” Callidus asked Wystan when he handed over the phials.  “It would be more accurate that way.  Though you could divide the doses.”

 

 “I’ll keep that in mind,” Wystan said enigmatically, taking the phials and putting them in his robe pockets.  As curious as Callidus was about why the seventh year wanted the potion, he had a feeling that Wystan had no intention of telling him.  But Slytherins weren’t inclined to lay out their business for all to see anyway - and since they were mutually benefitting from the arrangement, Callidus didn’t push Wystan to reveal his plans.

 

Though Callidus still continued to study increasingly difficult and complicated potions, he also set aside some of his lab time to brew the next potion that the trio planned to use for the prank.  However, the potion couldn’t be used as it was - modifications were needed.  And while it had seemed simple at first, Callidus learned that it was more challenging than he expected.  As for Harry and Malfoy, they were still bickering about who to use the potion against.  Malfoy wanted to target the Gryffindors again, but since the Weasley twin’s last prank didn’t do any harm to the Slytherins, Harry thought it would be wrong.  As for the Weasley twins, the word around the school was that they were determined to terrorize Filch during the length of their month long detention (and doing a good job of it at that, considering how much Filch hated that duo.)

 

Having determined that he liked Granger, Harry (along with a pleased Callidus and a resigned Malfoy) made an effort to seek her out in the library and sit at her table.  And while Granger had been nervous and suspicious at first, she quickly warmed to Harry, and seemed to have forgiven Callidus for his behaviour in December.  Callidus was thrilled to be able to engage in interesting intellectual discussions with the clever Gryffindor, and his enthusiasm did not go unnoticed.  

 

  “You just can’t leave that mudblood alone, can you?” Greengrass said with derision, when the two of them crossed paths in the corridor.  “It’s sickening that you had to drag Harry and Draco along with you.  The association taints them.”

 

Callidus’s lip curled in a sneer.  “If it offends you so much, I’m glad to do it,” he replied coldly, no longer willing to let Greengrass’s attitude affect him. “And while it’s flattering that you think I have so much influence as to drag Harry and Malfoy into anything, you forget that both of them have minds and wills of their own.”

 

But Greengrass wasn’t the only Slytherin who had caught wind of the trio’s association with Granger.  While most of the other first years either accepted or grudgingly tolerated the connection, there were numerous upperclassmen who were horrified.  It was clear that Callidus’s and Harry’s friendship with Malfoy was the only thing that kept them from being openly scorned by those who were the most zealous about pureblood dogma.  With the Malfoy name being so influential and powerful, there were few who were willing to make an enemy of him.  But that didn’t mean that they didn’t write home to their families about it, and it wasn’t long before Malfoy received a rather scathing letter from his father about his new ‘questionable’ acquaintance.

 

 “What does the letter say?” Harry asked, as Malfoy’s eyes scanned the spiky, elegant handwriting on the thick ecru parchment.  Malfoy’s pale face looked even paler than usual, and Callidus thought he detected a tremble in the other boy’s hand.

 

 “It’s my father,” Malfoy said woodenly.  He peered up, and noticed the eyes of the other first years were on him - they were in the Great Hall after all, and Malfoy had a habit of making a big fuss over the post he received (usually because it was laden with treats.)

 

 “I’ll tell you about it later,” Malfoy muttered, folding up the letter and putting it in his robe pockets.

 

They didn’t get a chance to be alone until after classes that day, and knowing that there’d be no privacy, they grabbed their warmest cloaks, scarves and mittens, and went out to the Quad.  Malfoy was unusually quiet.  Callidus was used to the blond’s incessant chatter, and it was strange to see him so silent. 

 

 “Is everything alright, Draco?” Harry asked with concern.

 

Malfoy bit down on the inside of his cheek, trying to keep his grey eyes hard, but he couldn’t completely keep the vulnerability from his expression.  “My father is displeased about my association with Granger,” Malfoy said, his voice flat.

 

 “And?” 

 

 “He’s disappointed in me,” Malfoy continued.  “Extremely disappointed.  He questions my values, and believes that being here at Hogwarts is fostering damaging beliefs.  He says I need to remember to uphold the prestige of the Malfoy name.”  Malfoy pursed his lips.  “He says that - that I am debasing myself by fraternizing with - er - undesirable people.”

 

Callidus looked over at Malfoy, and as much as the blond sometimes annoyed him, he felt sympathy for the other boy.  Ever since their prank against the Gryffindors, and then their brotherhood bond, he felt closer to him (though if they were brothers, they were the sort that were more rivals than friends.)  Callidus couldn’t help but wonder what Lucius Malfoy had actually said in that letter.  It was clear that Malfoy was censoring the language for Harry’s benefit.

 

 “He would really tell you who to and who not to spend time with?” Harry asked, his expression incredulous.  “You’re not going to listen to him, are you?”

 

 “It’s my father,” Malfoy said in strained tones. “If he wanted to, he could disown me.”

 

Harry looked horrified.  “Disown you?  Your father would really do that?”

 

Malfoy pursed his lips and nodded.

 

 “So what are we going to do?” Callidus asked.

 

Malfoy looked towards him.  “We?”

 

 “Well - we’re brothers.  We’re in this together, right?” Callidus asked.

 

A flicker of surprise passed across Malfoy’s face.  “Yeah.” he eventually replied.  The trio fell into a troubled but contemplative silence.

 

 “I like Hermione,” Harry said, breaking the silence.  “I wouldn’t want to stop spending time with her.”

 

 “I like her too,” Callidus added.  

 

Malfoy sighed heavily.  “She - she’s not as bad as I thought.”  While Malfoy wasn’t as close to Hermione as Callidus and Harry were becoming, he did appreciate her enthusiastic attentiveness when he started telling her about the details of traditional magical culture which was one topic that as a muggleborn, she knew very little about.  Malfoy certainly had a soft spot for anyone who stroked his ego.

 

 “Maybe we could just visit her in secret,” Harry suggested.

 

 “I’m not going to skulk around like some sort of deviant,” Malfoy snapped.

 

 “What if you made up something, to tell your father?” Callidus asked.

 

Malfoy raised his eyebrows.  “Like what?”

 

 “What sort of things would he want to hear?” Callidus inquired.  “You know him best.”

 

Malfoy hummed.  “I’ll have to think on it.”

 

The trio spent the rest of the day throwing out ideas for what to say to Lucius Malfoy.  The ideas ranged from outlandish (“You could tell him that you have a terrible illness, and Hermione is the only one with the cure”) to useless (“Just tell your dad that he’s plain wrong”) to possible (“Tell him that you’re spying on the Gryffindors through her.”)

 

 “It feels a bit weird, planning to lie to your dad,” Harry admitted, as they continued to brainstorm ideas.

 

Malfoy lifted a shoulder in a philosophical shrug. “It isn’t necessarily a lie.  We’re just discussing - possibilities.  And really, there are a lot of things that could possibly be true.”

 

Callidus smirked at Malfoy’s very Slytherin reply.  “Yes, because Granger could be a secret pureblood that no one has ever heard of.”

 

Malfoy snorted.  “Maybe she is.”

 

In the end, they decided to tell the elder Malfoy that they were just using Granger.  Most of the professors adored her, and by spending time with her, it changed the perception of both the Professors and even the headmaster.  Malfoy even implied that he had a long term plan to lull Dumbledore into a sense of complacency so that it was easier to undermine him later, and by pretending to befriend the Gryffindor, he could expand his influence in the school.

 

 “Do you think he’ll believe it?” Callidus asked.

 

 “He won’t know otherwise,” Malfoy replied.  “I just have to convince him that it’s part of my plan of making my way to the top of the school hierarchy.  If there’s one thing my father respects, it’s power.”

 

 “Doesn’t he care whether or not you’re happy?” Harry asked.

 

 “Happiness is being at the top, and knowing that the rest of the world is beneath you,” Malfoy said, mimicking his father.  Harry scrunched up his face in reply.


	29. Chapter 29

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for all the comments and reviews!

The rest of the January passed by peacefully (or at least as peaceful as possible, considering that one was in a school filled with mischief-minded youth).  The trio spent their weekdays busy with classes and homework.  Their weekends were often spent on planning their big prank or creeping around with the Camouflage Potion.  Harry was disappointed to fail to discover Quirrell committing any nefarious acts.  Meanwhile, Malfoy was convinced that the Camouflage Potion would be better spent gathering information about the other students that could be used as blackmail (and of course, Harry strongly objected to the idea.)

 

Malfoy had received a reply from his father, informing him that if he was indeed using Granger, then he ought to at least inform his own House so that he could maintain the Slytherins’ respect.  It felt a little uncomfortable to spread the lie and deceive their own House, and yet Malfoy did not hesitate to do so.  It was fortunate that Slytherin gossip did not spread further than their own House - Callidus would have hated for Granger to hear the rumour, and think the worst of him yet again.  While many of their Housemates seemed to believe the rumours, there were still many that didn’t (including many of the first years who knew the trio best.)  But out of a sense of unity, the first years didn’t speak their doubts, and let the rumour spread.

 

In early February, the trio were making their way to the Owlery, on one if their regular trips to visit their owls.  It was a chilly day, but it was free of rain and snow.  Because the owls couldn’t fly into the dungeons with ease (as compared to the other Houses), most Slytherins kept their owls in the Owlery.  While Malfoy might have been content to let his owl roost in the Owlery (seeing as he so often saw his eagle owl at the breakfast table), Harry was determined to shower Hedwig with affection whenever he got the opportunity.

 

The trio had invited some of the other first year Slytherins with them, but they had declined (“Hmm - sit near a roaring fire, or freeze my bits off in a frigid tower full of bird droppings.  Such a difficult choice,” Parkinson had said.)  

 

 “I’m starting to think that maybe we should cross Quiver off as a suspect,” Harry said, as they walked towards the west tower.  “I’ve never been able to catch him doing anything suspicious.  Though I can’t explain why he often seems to look our way in class.”

 

 “I really can’t imagine Quiver being any threat to anything,” Callidus scoffed.

 

 “It doesn’t leave us with very many suspects for who might be trying to hurt you,” Harry replied.  “Though when I spoke to Wystan, he mentioned that you look a lot like the old Slytherin Head of House, and apparently a lot of people didn’t like him.”

 

 “Snape?” Malfoy cut in.  “I’ve heard the rumours floating around - there are people who think that you’re his son, Prince.  I’ve met Snape - he used to visit my father at the manor, and I can’t imagine him having a relationship, never mind a son.  Though you do kind of look like him.  Less so today, since you’re using that hair potion.”

 

“I know for certain that my father never taught here at Hogwarts,” Callidus affirmed.  “And Wystan mentioned that to me too.  Do you really think he - Snape - was that bad?  I mean, disliked enough that someone would want to hurt me for what he did?”  The idea made his guts feel all twisted up.  Callidus didn’t crave popularity, and for the most part, he didn’t care what people thought of him (though some part of him longed to be admired - particularly for his intelligence.)  But it was a different matter when people loathed him.  Especially if they loathed him enough to want to hurt him.

 

 “I never really spoke to him,” Malfoy admitted.  “Though he had a scowl that could wither the most vicious venomous tentacula.  But you’re talking about Gryffindors, Ravenclaws and Hufflepuffs.  The Slytherins liked him, so they would hardly want to hurt you if you resembled the old Head of House.  Gryffindors probably consider themselves too noble to hurt you, Ravenclaws are too busy trying to read every book in the library, and Hufflepuffs are Hufflepuffs.  They’re as likely to hurt themselves as to hurt anything else.”

 

 “That’s true,” Callidus conceded.

 

 “I don’t know,” Harry said, worrying his lower lip.  “I mean, if Gryffindors are so noble, then how can the Weasley twins get away with all their pranks?  And not all Ravenclaws are library obsessed.  There’s that weird fifth year that’s never in the library because he’s always singing.”

 

 “I think I remember Parkinson gossiping about him,” Callidus asked.  “Vickers or something.  Apparently he’s trying to replace Latin incantations with melodies.  It’s an interesting concept, considering that sound itself has so much power.  The idea is heavily theoretical, though I could see a Ravenclaw being absorbed by it.”

 

 “The point is, just because someone is in one of the other Houses, it doesn’t mean that they’re harmless,” said Harry.

 

It was a valid argument, and Callidus couldn’t dispute it.  But the conversation was cut off as the trio climbed the spiraling stairs and entered the Owlery.  A light wind was blowing through the open windows, and Hedwig swooped down to land on Harry’s upraised arm.  The boys crossed the straw covered floor, and Callidus and Harry sat upon the window sills, while Malfoy leaned against the wall.

 

 “My father wants you to visit over the spring holidays, Harry” Malfoy said, as Harry leisurely preened the feathers on Hedwig’s head.

 

 “What for?” Harry asked.

 

 “Oh, he wants to prepare you for the interview with the _Daily Prophet,_ ” Malfoy replied.  “Public opinion is very important if he’s going to be able to pass the bill that will allow you to be freed from those horrible muggles of yours.”

 

Harry frowned, looking away from Hedwig up to Malfoy.  “They’re not my muggles.  Why can’t your dad come here?  On the weekends or something?”

 

 “Because he doesn’t want Dumbledore to know his business,” Malfoy replied.  “He’s an interfering old muggle-lover.”

 

 “Is this bill supposed to be a secret?” Callidus asked.  “Dumbledore can act a little strange at times, but I believe he means well, even if he does like muggles.”

 

 “Dumbledore is blinded by his love for muggles and their ways,” Malfoy retorted.  “Isn’t that why he stuck Harry with those horrible muggles in the first place?  Anyhow, with all the people here at Hogwarts, it isn’t conducive to quiet and reflective atmosphere, like the manor.”

 

Harry worried his lower lip.  It was evident that he was still uneasy about the whole idea of doing an interview for the newspaper.  Harry had set Hedwig down on his knee, and one hand was in his pocket, fiddling with his wand.  Meanwhile, Malfoy’s eagle owl had deigned to fly down, and was perched regally on Malfoy’s arm, looking as arrogant as any Malfoy.

 

 “It would just be for the day, right?” Harry asked.  “Your family’s manor is - er - nice, and all, Draco, but if I had to stay there, I think I’d get lost, or offend your family with my manners.”

 

Malfoy rolled his eyes.  “Your manners are perfectly fine, when you actually bother to apply them.  And if you stay with me, you won’t get lost.  And of course, you’re invited too, Prince.  Just - you know - use that hair potion daily, when you visit.  It’s too bad we never managed to find something that could tame your hair, Harry.”

 

Harry wrinkled his nose.  “I don’t even see how my hair is important.”

 

 “And that’s why you have a frien - brother like me to guide you,” Malfoy replied.

 

Callidus smirked.  “Frankly, when you talk like that, you sound more like a sister than a brother.”

 

 “What would you know?  Half the time, your hair looks like the nightmare child between a dead raven and a bundle of seagrass.”

 

 “It’s not that bad!” Harry said, coming to Callidus’s defence. “If you think that about his hair, then what do you think of mine?”

 

 “Your hair is - spirited,” Malfoy replied cautiously.

 

Callidus snorted.  “Spirited?  You make it sound like he’s got a colony of frolicking pixies on his head.”

 

 “I don’t mean it like that!” Malfoy exclaimed, causing his eagle owl to lose his balance, and nip Malfoy in a fit of pique.  Hedwig shifted uneasily on Harry’s knee.

 

 “Shh - it’s okay girl,” Harry said reassuringly.  “You’re going to make me lose my balance and fall out the window.”

 

Harry’s comment led Callidus to glance out the Owlery window, at the broad expanse of forest beyond.  It was a spectacular view (and much better when was sitting on a window sill, rather than sitting on the back of an invisible thestral).

 

One moment, Callidus was admiring the view, and the next, felt like he was in a grip of a powerful wind.  But instead of the wind blowing from the outside in, he felt the terrible force of it blowing from within the Owlery, causing the mass of fluttering over the terrifying roar of the strange wind.  His arms windmilled for a second, as he felt the wind pushing him out the tower window, and once again, he was falling.

 

He registered a flutter of black next to him - Harry(!) - and the cry of Harry’s voice - a familiar word.  His last thought was: ‘Cushioning charm?’  And then he hit the strangely soft rocks with enough force that there was still a terrible crack of pain through his body, before he lost consciousness.

 

Upon seeing the vaulted ceilings of the hospital wing upon waking, Callidus’s first thought was: ‘not again!’  He turned his head towards the infirmary doors, and then towards the beds, and was shocked to see Harry lying unconscious on the bed adjacent to his own, with Malfoy at a chair by their beds.  Malfoy looked worse than Callidus had ever seen him, but his attention was riveted on Harry.  Was he okay?  Why wasn’t he awake yet?

 

 “What happened?” Callidus asked, his voice little more than a groan.  Malfoy turned his pallid face towards him, and he could hear the footsteps of Madam Pomfrey as she made her way towards his bed.

 

 “I see you’re finally awake, Mr. Prince,” Madam Pomfrey said, before Malfoy could reply.  “You and Mr. Potter had quite the fall.  Mr. Potter saved both your lives with his quick thinking.”

 

 “Harry!” Callidus exclaimed.  “Is he okay?  He - he used the cushioning charm, didn’t he?”

 

 “Mr. Potter will be fine.  He should be waking at any moment,” Madam Pomfrey said reassuringly.  “I want you to drink this potion, and there’ll be a dose for Mr. Potter when he wakes.”  The matron handed him a small phial, which he quickly downed, not even attempting to discern the ingredients because of his worry.  He barely even noticed when Madam Pomfrey waved her wand over him to check the status of his health.  It briefly occurred to him that now he owed two life debts, but the thought gave way to greater concerns.

 

 “I want you to rest now - you and Mr. Potter will be excused from classes tomorrow to recover,” Madam Pomfrey informed him.  She walked over to Harry’s bed, performing the same wand movement, before leaving the trio to themselves.  Callidus looked towards Malfoy expectantly, but then Harry groaned, and the two boys looked towards Harry’s bed.

 

Harry’s eyes fluttered open, and a bewildered expression crossed his face as he tried to comprehend where he was.

 

 “Harry!” Malfoy exclaimed, looking like the weight of the world had just been removed from his shoulders.  With Harry conscious, Madam Pomfrey returned to give Harry the potion, and ask him a few questions about his health.  She tutted and fussed over him, but when she was finally satisfied, she departed once again.

 

 “I feel like I just lost a fight against the giant squid,” Harry said, with a weak smile.  “Wow, you look terrible Draco.  What happened to you?”

 

 “I - nothing happened to me.  Someone tried to kill you and Prince!” Malfoy replied, his voice strained with nervous urgency.  “Thank Merlin you’re alive.  I thought -”  

 

 “You know his name is Cal, right?” Harry said, focusing on the most insignificant detail.

 

Malfoy huffed.  “Who cares?  Fine!  You and Callidus nearly died!”

 

Callidus looked at Malfoy in surprise.  He didn’t think the blond would ever get around to using his name.  He supposed this meant that he’d have to start calling Malfoy Draco.

 

 “So what _did_ happen then, Mal - er - Draco?” Callidus asked.  The name felt odd on his lips.  “All I remember is some sort of wind?”

 

Draco nodded.  “It was some sort of spell - it felt like a hurricane in the Owlery.  It had me pinned to the wall where I was standing.  I couldn’t even move - and it was so loud that all I could hear was the wind.  But you two -”  Draco’s expression became pained.

 

 “Hedwig!” Harry exclaimed.  “Is she okay?”

 

At this, Draco smiled weakly.  “You were nearly killed and your first concern is your owl?  She’s fine.”

 

 “Oh, good!” Harry replied, a relieved smile crossing his face.  Draco’s answering expression was more like a grimace - what the blond failed to mention was that while Hedwig was fine, not all the owls were so lucky.

 

 “Did you see who cast the spell?” Callidus asked.  “I don’t think I’ve even heard of the spell that you’re describing.  I’ll have to check the library.”

 

Draco shook his head.  “I didn’t see anyone.  Or hear anything.”

 

The boys were interrupted from their discussion by the entry of Professor Dumbledore, wearing what looked like velvet robes in a shade of maroon.

 

 “Ah, I see you boys are awake,” Dumbledore said, pointing out the obvious with a serene expression.  Draco immediately became guarded, but Harry and Callidus were curious.

 

 “How are you feeling?” the headmaster asked.

 

 “Like I just survived a fall out of a tower,” Callidus said dryly, while Harry stuck to a more neutral: “Fine.”

 

 “I believe you’ll be wanting these,” Dumbledore said, holding out a pair of wands.  Neither Callidus nor Harry had even given their wands any thought when they awoke, but upon seeing the wands, they eagerly reached for them.

 

 “Merlin!” Harry exclaimed.  “I’m so glad it didn’t break.”

 

 “You did a truly remarkable thing,” Dumbledore said to Harry.  “To cast a cushioning spell of that breadth in such a situation.  You saved your own life, and Callidus’s as well.”

 

 “The dueling club helped,” Harry admitted.  “We had to learn that spell before Wystan would teach any of us _Petrificus Totalus_.”

 

Dumbledore’s eyes sparkled.  “I’ll have to thank Wystan for his excellent teaching then.”  

 

 “So, do you know anything about what happened?” Callidus interjected.

 

The headmaster’s expression became serious.  “We’re still investigating the situation.”

 

 “What was that spell that was used?  It felt like a hurricane,” Callidus asked.

 

   “It sounds like it could be an atmospheric charm,” Dumbledore said thoughtfully. “But it would be an extremely powerful witch or wizard who could cast an atmospheric charm with the force of a hurricane.”

 

 “Could a student have cast it?” Harry asked.

 

Dumbledore hummed.  “It seems unlikely, unless the student has been masking their talent and power.”

 

 “Could someone have broken into the school?” Callidus questioned.  “Like Volde - er - You-Know-Who’s followers?”

 

 “Hogwarts is protected by old and powerful enchantments,” Dumbledore replied.  “It would be difficult to near impossible for anyone with malevolent intentions to enter these grounds.”

 

 “A teacher then,” Harry said, casting a quick glance at Callidus and Draco.  Callidus hoped it wasn’t true.  As amusing as it might be to speculate that the timid Quirrell meant them any harm, the idea of being in a school where teachers actually harmed their students seemed too disturbing to bear.  How could any of them feel safe if the teachers couldn’t be trusted to keep the students safe?  Not that Callidus had a great deal of trust in adults, but he had hoped that when he escaped from the shadow of his father, that it meant escaping abusive adults.  His time here at Hogwarts felt more like home than Spinner’s End ever did, and he hated the idea that Hogwarts wasn’t the haven that he longed for.

 

To Callidus’s dismay, Dumbledore did not negate Harry’s statement.  Instead, he made a general comment about doing his utmost to look out for them before leaving.  While Callidus believed that Dumbledore meant well, he was starting to think that Harry’s philosophy was right - if someone was harming him (or Harry), he needed to be serious about investigating the situation.  His life had been in peril thrice, and none of the adults had done anything to prevent it.  It was time for him to take matters into his own hands.

 

 “He’s hiding something,” Draco said, when the infirmary door closed behind the headmaster.  Draco was inclined to be suspicious of Dumbledore, but in this case, Callidus couldn’t help but think that Draco could be right.

 

 “Like what?” Harry asked.  “Do you think he knows something about the teachers?”

 

 “Perhaps,” Draco replied, his grey eyes narrowed.  “But I don’t trust him.”

 

 “If it is one of the teachers -” Callidus began before trailing off.  He used to be a teacher.  Perhaps he had a rivalry that the adults hadn’t informed him of.  The more that he got to know Professor Dumbledore, the more aware he became of the way Dumbledore would conceal his knowledge.  True, the headmaster sometimes helped him (such as the book that Dumbledore had lent him on meditative techniques for Occlumency) but ultimately, other than providing an ear, Dumbledore hadn’t done all that much for him.

 

 “I guess that makes Quiver a suspect again,” Harry said, when it was clear that Callidus wasn’t going to finish his statement.

 

 “It makes all the teachers suspects,” Draco said.  “Who can really trust them?  Especially the way that they think of Slytherins.”

 

Callidus and Harry knit their brows.  Most of their teachers seemed decent - and who could imagine Professor Flitwick or Professor Sprout wanting to hurt anyone?  But perhaps Draco was right  - perhaps all the teachers (except Professor Binns) were suspects.

 

 “I don’t think all the teachers are suspects.  I mean, Professor Flitwick is running the duelling club, which is teaching us to defend ourselves,” Harry said.  “If not for that, I wouldn’t have learned to cast the cushioning charm so quickly.”

 

 “It would hardly be practical to try and keep track of all the teachers.  And what about the ones that don’t teach us?” Callidus added.

 

Draco huffed.  “Fine, then what should we do instead?”

 

 “Find out if anyone has a motive to hurt us,” Callidus replied.  “You’re always going on about your father, Mal - Draco.  Well, now is your chance to make use of your family name and see if you can dig up any useful information.”

 

Though Callidus’s tone of voice clearly irritated Draco, he still nodded.  The boys shared their various theories and speculations.  There was some uncertainty about whether it was Callidus or Harry being targeted.  And if it turned out that someone was trying to hurt both of them, then the question was: what did they have in common that would lead someone to want to hurt them both?

 

Their conversation was disrupted by the sound of the infirmary doors opening, and a chatter that suddenly became a hush.  The trio looked over to the entrance way, just as Parkinson wailed: “Haaarrry!” and came dashing up to their beds.  It was the first year Slytherins, come to visit.  Parkinson was by Harry’s side in a second, but the other Slytherins took a more sedate pace, their expressions ranging from worry to curiosity.

 

 “Stop smothering him, you overwrought cow!” Draco exclaimed to Parkinson who was cooing over Harry.  “Can’t you see that he’s trying to recover?”

 

Parkinson narrowed her eyes at Draco, but with a flip of her hair, she ignored him and went back to fussing over Harry.

 

 “You all right?” Zabini asked Callidus.  Zabini’s face was impassive, but there was a flicker of worry in his brown eyes and in his tone of voice.

 

 “I can’t say I’m thrilled to be back in the infirmary,” Callidus replied dryly.

 

Zabini’s lip curled upwards.  “It’s becoming a bad habit.”

 

 “What happened anyway?  Were you and Harry really pushed out of the Owlery?” Bulstrode asked, her eyes gleaming with indignation on his behalf.  She looked rather like a viking maiden, ready for battle, and her clenched fists and tight jaw only reinforced the impression.

 

 “Not exactly -” Callidus began. “It was some kind of spell.”

 

 “Poor Harry!” Parkinson wailed, hugging him close while an angry Draco tried to peel her off.

 

 “What was the spell?” Davis asked Harry, as Parkinson stroked Harry’s hair as though he were a wounded puppy.

 

Harry looked over at Callidus.  “It was like a hurricane,” Harry replied.  “Professor Dumbledore said it was a - erm -”

 

 “Atmospheric spell,” Callidus finished.  He felt uncomfortable revealing too much information to the other Slytherins - one could never entirely trust them after all.  When the first years eventually learned that the trio’s information was limited, the conversation soon turned towards speculation, until they grew bored and finally left.  But if the trio thought that they’d have no more guest for the evening, they were wrong.

 

The infirmary door opened quietly and a familiar bushy head of hair appeared.  Granger entered the library, her expression filled with heartfelt concern.

 

 “Callidus!  Harry!” she exclaimed, as she walked over self-consciously, as though uncertain of her unwelcome.  “I heard what happened - the whole school is talking about it.  Are you two all right?”

 

 “Granger,” Callidus replied, surprised at her presence, while Harry said a more cheerful, “Hullo Hermione!  We’re fine.”

 

 “Oh, honestly!  Just call Hermione!” she said to Callidus with a touch of exasperation, though the wobble in her voice, and the sheen of her eyes betrayed her deeper worries.  “How did this happen?”

 

Once again, the trio explained what they knew, though Callidus revealed more to Hermione than he did to the other Slytherins.  Hermione was (rightfully) stunned to hear how Harry had saved their lives (“It would take an immense amount of power to cast a cushioning charm of such magnitude, Harry!  What you’re describing exceeds even the limits described in the course book!”)  And when they informed her about the Atmospheric spell, her first instinct was to dash off to the library and learn everything she could.

 

 “Bring me some books!” Callidus had exclaimed when she was already halfway to the exit.  “It would halve our research time if we split the effort.”  Hermione had looked at him with wide and startled eyes, which soon became a determined nod.  And when she was gone, Callidus turned his head to see Harry and Draco staring at him - Draco with an eyebrow raised, and Harry with an amused smile.

 

 “I must say, the reason why you insisted we start spending time with Granger suddenly makes complete sense,” Draco said to Callidus.  “She’s like a female version of you.  Though you’re a bit less annoying, Callidus.”

 

 “How kind of you to say so,” Callidus replied, rolling his eyes, but in truth, Callidus knew that Draco’s words had no real sting.

 

Before long, Hermione returned with a stack of books, and as curfew neared, Draco was forced to leave the infirmary to return to the dorms.  The following day was spent researching (since Callidus and Harry were bed bound), but although atmospheric charms were quite interesting, Callidus failed to come across anything useful.


	30. Chapter 30

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for pointing out misspellings and such, and thank you for the comments!

When the boys were finally free to leave the hospital wing, they learned that Harry’s celebrity status had grown by quite a bit.

 

 “Everyone wants to hear about what happened,” Draco had said gleefully, reveling in the attention he was receiving from having been at the heart of all the action. “It’s all anyone is talking about.”

 

 “Everyone?” echoed Harry uneasily.  Callidus shot him a sympathetic glance.  Harry was looking a tad queasy at the thought of being fawned over - especially since he was already famous enough as the Boy Who Lived.

 

 “Everyone,” Draco repeated with smug satisfaction.  Harry gulped, looking as though the idea of being shut away in the infirmary was growing more and more appealing.

 

 “Considering how much you hate the attention, I’m surprised you haven’t just made Draco your spokesperson, Harry,” Callidus said.

 

Harry seemed to perk up at the idea.  He turned to Draco, his green eyes glowing with hope.  “Would you?”

 

 “What?  Be a spokesperson?”  Draco asked, his nose wrinkling.  “It sounds like a - job.”  (The word ‘job’ was dripping with disdain).

 

Callidus’s lip curled in a sly smile.  “But Draco - just think of how exclusive the position would be.  Knowing that you’re one of the very few people who know the real Harry - you’d be the envy of the school.  The Malfoy name mixed with the Potter fame.  All that power.”  Callidus’s last sentence came out almost as a purr.  And judging by the gleam in Draco’s eyes, Callidus knew that his words had struck.

 

 “You have a point, Callidus,” Draco replied, barely able to suppress his ambitious excitement beneath his aristocratic demeanour.

 

 “What are brothers for if not to help one another out,” Callidus responded airily, as though indifferent to the whole matter.  But when Callidus’s eyes met Harry’s, he thawed a bit at the sight of the grateful smile.

 

Determined to play a more active role in his own safety and protection, Callidus sought out the Weasley twins, hoping that they could offer clues as to who might want to harm him or Harry.  Callidus had been defensive, expecting that the twins would be either troublesome or ambiguous, but to his surprise, they were rather sympathetic to his plight.  After all, it wasn’t every day that someone tried to kill any of the students.

 

 “So, did - er - Snape have a lot of enemies?” Callidus inquired, after finally catching up to the twins on one of the staircases.

 

The twins shared a look.  “Enemies.”

 

  “Well -” one of them began.

 

 “There’s all of Gryffindor -”

 

 “And Hufflepuff at that -”

 

 “And we’d probably include any thin-skinned Ravenclaws as well.”

 

 “Really, you’d have better luck narrowing down someone who  _ wasn’t _ Snape’s enemy.”

 

Callidus frowned.  The idea of antagonizing three-fourths of the student population was rather disturbing.  As a Slytherin, he didn’t particularly care about the other Houses, but that didn’t mean that he wanted them as enemies.

 

 “Not the students,” Callidus clarified.  “Do you know if any of the teachers had a bad relationship with Snape?”

 

 “Hard to tell,” one of the twins replied.

 

 “Snape was a right git -”

 

  “No offense to you, of course -”

 

 “You’re nothing like him, really.”

 

Callidus rolled his eyes.  In the end, he wasn’t able to gather any useful information.  His adult-self had been a very private man, who had kept his business to himself.  That might have benefited him back then, but it certainly did not help him now.

 

At Callidus’s next meeting with Wystan in the Potions lab, he finally learned of the results of his experimental potions.  Wystan was all but vibrating with an excited sort of tension, and had seemed eager to speak to Callidus when they crossed paths in the common room.

 

 “Were the results of the potion that good?” Callidus asked Wystan, with an arched eyebrow.  “You’re excitement is a bit - dizzying.”

 

Wystan broke out into a wide grin, flashing white teeth, and looking as though he had been hit by one too many cheering charms.  “The potion results were interesting to say the least, but I have other reasons to be happy.”

 

 “Oh?”

 

Callidus didn’t think it was possible, but somehow, Wystan’s smile became even brighter.  “Calypso agreed to go out with me!”

 

 “Calypso?”

 

 “She’s the Hufflepuff girl I told you about.  The one that kept turning me down,” Wystan explained.  “She finally said yes!”

 

 “Huh,” Callidus replied, and for a second, he wondered if Calypso had been given a dose of the Will-Weakening Draught.  But it was really none of his business.  Callidus had researched the potion after all, and while the draught did weaken a person’s volition, it could not force them to do something that they truly did not want to do.

 

 “Erm - Congratulations?” Callidus said.  It seemed that those were the right words, because Wystan replied with a pleased-sounding ‘thanks,’ and gave him a friendly squeeze on his shoulder.  While it was obvious that Wystan would have been happy to prattle on about his new girlfriend, the seventh-year managed to get his mind on track, and reported on the results of Callidus’s three batches of Will-Weakening Draught.

 

 “The yellow-labelled batch was definitely the strongest,” Wystan informed him. “And the purple-labelled batch was the weakest.”

 

Callidus checked the results against his notes, recording the data that Wystan provided him.  Just as he had expected, the potion that used the rat eyes from the creature that suffered the most was significantly more powerful.  It really was too bad that similar effects couldn’t be gained from more benign potions.  After all, the Dark Arts were frowned upon by much of the wizarding world, and Callidus’s experiments most certainly crossed that line.  Nonetheless, he felt a quiet thrill at his discovery, knowing that in some small way, he had contributed to the store of knowledge about potions.

 

 “So?” Wystan asked, when Callidus’s quill had stopped its frantic motions across the parchment.

 

Callidus looked up at the seventh-year, and a corner of his lips curled up into a small smile.  “So, it would appear that my hypothesis is correct.”

 

 “Truly?!” Wystan exclaimed. “Not that I doubted you, but - well - Callidus!  That’s amazing!” 

 

Caught up in Wystan’s fervor, Callidus broke into a grin, while Wystan chuckled with buoyant glee.

 

 “And to think!  Not a Ravenclaw, but a Slytherin,” Wystan continued excitedly.  “You do our House proud.  We have to tell Sluggy about this!  A discovery like this - you could be published in a Potions journal!” 

 

Callidus barely had time to grab his notes before Wystan grabbed him by the arm and dashed off to find their Head of House.

 

 “He’s going to be so pleased about this,” Wystan went on, without even missing a step as he turned a corner and leapt up a flight of stairs.  “He’ll probably want you in the Slug Club, even if he normally doesn’t admit first years.  He’d be a fool to brush something like this aside.”

 

Callidus was only half-listening to Wystan.  His mind was still a whirl about the confirmation of his potions discovery.  He had done some small tests of his own, but hearing Wystan’s results solidified his observations.  But before long, he was scarcely thinking at all, since climbing up to the sixth floor behind Wystan was causing his thighs to burn, and it was all he could do to catch his breath.  Eventually, they had reached the sixth floor corridor and Wystan was knocking on Professor Slughorn’s door.

 

Slughorn opened his office door, his expression weary as though he dealt with students at all hours of the day (even though Callidus knew that most Slytherins had no desire to venture all the way to the sixth floor, just to speak to their Head of House).  But upon seeing Wystan and Callidus’s bright faces, his expression became more genial and invited them in.  Callidus had not yet seen Slughorn’s office before, and as he took in the luxurious furnishings, he couldn’t help but think that the room suited Slughorn.  It had a large fireplace, and two large sofas surrounding it.  There was also a round dinner table that looked as though it could seat ten people - most likely to host Slughorn’s fancy parties.

 

Slughorn guided them towards his sofas and sat them down on the buttery soft material that seemed determine to swallow them both.

 

 “What brings you boys here this evening?” Slughorn asked, after pouring himself an amber-coloured drink, and settling down across from them, looking as cozy as an overfed persian cat.

 

Wystan opened his mouth, but then closed it, looking towards Callidus with an encouraging smile that silently said: ‘it’s your new discovery to share.’

 

 “Well, Professor -” Callidus began, taking on a respectful tone that he knew would please Slughorn to no end.  “As you know, it’s my ambition to master Potions, and thanks to your generous - er - mentorship and the use of a potions lab, I have made a new discovery.”

 

Slughorn’s wispy eyebrows flew up, and he sat forward in his seat.  “Oh?”  His expression was a mixture of excitement warring with doubt and disbelief.  Callidus flicked a quick glance at Wystan who was smirking with amusement at Slughorn’s reaction.

 

 “Yes, I’ve found a way to amplify the power and effect of certain potions, using the same ingredients,” Callidus explained.  “I’ve tested a few potions myself, and Wystan also ran a blind trial which confirmed the results.”

 

Slughorn’s eyes had widened (rather comically), and he looked over at Wystan, who nodded in confirmation.

 

 “Remarkable, dear boy!” Slughorn exclaimed, nearly causing his drink to tip over in his hands.  “You must tell me more.”

 

Callidus began to detail his hypothesis, and the method he used to test his ideas.  He did not tell Slughorn about his personal endeavours to increase his magical sensitivity - that was his own business.  But he told everything else to Slughorn, whose emotions went from open curiosity to excitement, and then to a disappointment dismay.

 

 “Wystan thought that the discovery could be published in a Potions journal,” Callidus added. 

 

 “Oh!” Slughorn replied, looking a tad guilty.  “Well - my boy, while I am truly stunned that you have made such a stupendous discovery, the fact of the matter is that your experiments have been rather - ah - dark.  Most academic circles simply wouldn’t be willing to publish such a thing.  After Grindelwald and that terrible business with You-Know-Who, the academic community is rather cautious about what it prints, lest we encourage the spread of the Dark Arts.” 

 

 “Oh,” Callidus responded blankly.  The whole idea of being published had been so new - he hadn’t thought about it before Wystan brought it up, so Slughorn’s reply was only mildly disheartening.  And yet, while Callidus wasn’t crushed, he felt a sort of unhappy knot coiling in his gut.

 

 “That’s unfair!” Wystan exclaimed, angry on Callidus’s behalf.  “As academics, they should be impartial.”

 

Slughorn’s expression was sympathetic.  “Ah yes, I quite agree, Wystan. I always did find it regrettable that the Wizarding World here in Britain is so close-minded towards certain - ah - matters, even on an academic level.  And yet, it is what it is, and I’m afraid there’s little we can do to change it.”

 

 “Surely there must be international journals that would publish Callidus’s work,” Wystan prodded, unwilling to let the matter go.

 

Slughorn knit his brow thoughtfully, his fingers absently stroking the edge of his glass tumbler.  “It’s a possibility.  I will look into it for you.”  Slughorn’s eyes lit up.  “Just think of the prestige if this does get published!  Even if it is in a foreign journal.”

 

Relieved that Slughorn seemed to be on their side, Wystan gave Callidus a quick grin.  They made small talk for a while, and soon excused themselves for the night.  Having shown a hint of his prowess in potions, Slughorn treated Callidus with more warmth than ever, and when Callidus and Wystan stood to leave, Slughorn gave Callidus a friendly pat on the back, as though they were old friends.

 

In the following days, Callidus spent more time than ever in the library.  His new friendship with Hermione was rapidly becoming a familiar and welcome addition to his life.  After all, she was one of the very few people who seemed to have a similar obsession with learning as he had although his attention was becoming more and more absorbed in potions (and to some degree, the Dark Arts - though his interest at this point was more academic, of course.)

 

However, at the present, his fixation wasn’t on potions or any of his other classes - rather, he was occupied with trying to research more information on the mysterious hurricane spell that had blown him and Harry out the window of the Owlery.  Callidus had accepted (with resigned bitterness) the idea that the adults could do little to help him.  If Dumbledore or the other professors hadn’t been able to protect him thus far, then he probably couldn’t count on them to protect him in the future.  And not only that, but to think that their suspect might actually be a professor!  It had been naive to think that by escaping Tobias Snape, he was free from dangerous and violent adults, and Callidus felt foolish for letting down his guard.

 

Across from him, Hermione closed a tome with an annoyed huff, and pulled another book open, hoping to find a scrap of useful information.  Next to him, Harry had a book about weather charms propped open, but instead of researching the relevant spells, it looked as though he preoccupied with finding useful prank-related spells instead (and after all, pranks were so much more fun.)  It was evident from Harry’s fidgeting that he didn’t want to be cooped up in the library, but the drama of Harry and Callidus’s near-death was still on the tongues of many of the other students, and Harry wanted to escape the attention.  Draco had warmed up to the idea of being Harry’s spokesperson to such a degree that earlier in the day, Callidus and Harry had left him behind so that Draco could regale a group of enraptured students with the thrilling tale.  Of course, being the Slytherin that he was, Draco only told the story ‘for a price’ and in the past few days, he had accumulated an impressive stash of treats and other little knickknacks.  That, and he had a tendency to make the tale sound increasingly dramatic with each retelling.

 

As Callidus scanned the book in front of him, he came across a paragraph that caught his attention.

 

 “I think I found something that might enable us to narrow down our list of suspects,” Callidus said quietly to Harry and Hermione.  The pair of them looked up at him with curious expressions.  Callidus showed them the cover of his book - it wasn’t a charm-based reference book, but rather, a historical text focused on the most powerful wizards of the last half millennium.

 

 “There’s a reference here to an immensely powerful wizard that lived in South Asia in the mid 1600s,” Callidus informed them.  “The accounts state that the various islands in the region were plagued by a great sea monster.  Wizards from across Asia, and even wizards from Europe were desperate to vanquish the creature because it was disrupting the spice and textile shipping trades between the nations.  Some of the most powerful witches and wizards of the time attempted to slay the creature, but apparently to no effect.  Whatever the monster was, it was largely impervious to magic, and could only be harmed by physical force.  Finally, a wizard called up a hurricane of - it says here - ungodly strength, and the creature was smashed upon the rocks.  The book claims that other wizards have tried to replicate the hurricane spell - especially since it would have been useful in naval warfare - but only the rarest of wizard had the power to conjure up great winds.”

 

 “So - you’re suggesting -” Harry began.

 

 “That we’d have to rule out all but the most powerful adults,” Hermione finished.  “But who does that leave?  Professor Dumbledore?  He’d never do anything to harm a student!”

 

Callidus furrowed his brow.  “No, I’m not suggesting Dumbledore is a suspect.  But - whoever they are, they might very well be as powerful as Dumbledore.”

 

At this, a shiver of unease crept down all of their backs.  Dumbledore was iconic for his immense power and greatness as a wizard - if there was another witch or wizard whose abilities matched Dumbledore’s - well, such a thing was frightening to consider.  Especially when that witch or wizard was determined to hurt them.

 

 “That’s an angle that we ought to look into then,” Hermione said, matter-of-factly.  “I wonder if there might be a way to measure a witch’s or wizard’s level of magical ability.  If so -”  Hermione bit down on her lower lip, and it was evident that her mind was racing as she considered the possibilities.  She stood up suddenly.  “I’m going to grab some more books,” she informed them, almost as an afterthought, before rushing off towards the aisles.

 

Harry blinked at Hermione’s rapid departure before looking over at Callidus.  “She’s - pretty intense, isn’t she?”

 

Callidus’s lip quirked upwards with amused agreement.  “One of a kind, really.”

 

Callidus’s monthly meetings with Dumbledore were usually near the end of the month, so it was a surprise when Callidus received a note asking him to meet with the Headmaster in mid-February.  Callidus looked up at the Head Table, a curious expression on his face, but Dumbledore’s bright eyes provided no hint.  Perhaps Dumbledore had found a lead on the mysterious person who was trying to harm him and Harry.  A spark of optimism bloomed in his chest - it would be an immense relief if this problem was finally taken care of.  Spending more time with Hermione had only served to remind him of how very clever she was (and how she was performing better than him in far too many subjects) so if this problem with mysterious villain was taken care of, then he could focus on more important things (like being the top of his class.)

 

That evening, he made his way up towards the stone gargoyle, and said the password (“cockroach clusters.”)  He entered Dumbledore’s office without trepidation (after all, he was accustomed to being here each month), but a feeling of tension seemed to seize his muscles when he noticed that Dumbledore wasn’t showing his characteristic twinkle.

 

 “Good evening, Callidus,” the headmaster said, his placid tone of voice betraying nothing of his thoughts.  “How are you this evening?”

 

 “Hello Professor,” Callidus responded neutrally.  “I’m - as well as I could be, I suppose.”

 

Dumbledore hummed, and his eyes seemed to bore into Callidus’s.  Instinctively, Callidus blanked out his mind (as he had learned from the book on meditative techniques that Dumbledore had taught him.)  A knowing smile seemed to play on the headmaster’s lips.

 

 “And Harry?” Dumbledore asked.

 

 “No one has tried to kill either me or Harry, if that’s what you’re asking,” Callidus replied, a touch acerbically.  “Speaking of which, have you discovered the culprit for the attack?”

 

 “No,” Dumbledore said, sounding regretful.  “We’ve investigated the area around the Owlery, and have tested the protective enchantments around the castle, but as yet, we haven’t found our suspect.”

 

 “You don’t know anyone who might want to hurt me?  Not even someone who might have wanted to hurt my past self?”

 

 “You were a private man, but you never did anything to antagonize the faculty.  You may not have been close to them, but you had a relationship of respect.”

 

Callidus pursed his lips unhappily, and Dumbledore’s expression seemed to soften.  “I know this is difficult, Callidus,” Dumbledore added.  “Your safety and Harry’s safety is of the utmost importance.  For now, all I can suggest is that you stay together in groups.”

 

Callidus sighed, glancing absently at one of the silvery knickknacks in the room before looking back towards Dumbledore.  “I believe that I’ve found a clue that may help to narrow your search.”

 

 “Oh?”

 

 “We - well, mostly Hermione and I - have been researching.  In particular, we’ve been focusing our efforts on the hurricane spell.  Did you know that that particular spell requires an immense amount of power to cast?”  Callidus kept his expression bland, as though speaking of the weather, and in a sense, he was, seeing as hurricanes were a type of weather pattern.

 

The headmaster’s expression echoed Callidus’s, except there was that maddening twinkle in his eye.  He raised his white eyebrows, waiting for Callidus to continue.

 

 “It would appear that a witch or wizard powerful enough to cast such a spell is in truth, quite rare.  Tell me then, Professor - is there someone in the faculty whose powers rival your own?”

 

Dumbledore’s eyes became piercing, and though Callidus tried to stand his ground, he felt a shiver of unease.

 

 “You know something - don’t you?”  Callidus meant it as a statement, but it came out as a question.

 

Dumbledore replied with indecipherable hum.  “Only suspicions,” he eventually admitted, when it was clear that Callidus was awaiting an answer.  Callidus pursed his lips unhappily.  It sounded as if the headmaster knew as little as he did.  People thought so highly of Dumbledore - it was nice to imagine that their headmaster might be all-powerful and all-knowing, but ultimately, he was just another wizard, even if he was a particularly powerful (and intelligent) one.

 

They fell into an introspective silence, soothed by the familiar sounds of the whirring and clicking gadgets.

 

 “I suppose I should go,” Callidus murmured, pulling his gaze away from an intricate clicking contraption.  He was used to the headmaster dismissing him, and it struck him as odd that Dumbledore kept him there, in that not-very-silent sort of silence.

 

 “Unless there was something else you wanted?” Callidus inquired hesitantly.  His eyes met with the headmaster’s, and Callidus was struck by the knowing intensity of his gaze.  He felt pinned to the spot.

 

 “Horace has spoken to me about your potions work,” Dumbledore commented.  Behind the benign sounding statement was an edge of steel that caused Callidus’s pulse to quicken with unease.

 

 “Yes?”

 

 “Yes,” Dumbledore echoed.  “First, I want to offer my congratulations for making such a discovery at your age.  It shows a remarkable dedication.”  Despite the kind words, Callidus felt as though the headmaster was offering honey before a spoonful of something bitter to come.  Dumbledore’s eyes had a soft kindness, but that typical twinkle was absent, and for once, Callidus found himself wishing it were there.

 

 “But?” Callidus questioned, his voice scarcely above a whisper.

 

 “But I’m afraid we won’t be able to publish your findings,” the headmaster concluded.  “Your discovery is unquestionably dark - it crosses dangerous moral and ethical lines and such knowledge would surely be abused.  I have no doubt that with your brilliant mind, you will eventually take the potions world by storm.”

 

 “But not this time,” Callidus finished flatly.

 

 “I’m sorry, my boy,” Dumbledore said consolingly.

 

For some reason, Callidus hadn’t expected to have this conversation with Dumbledore.  He had thought of his potions work as something between him and Slughorn (and Wystan).  Callidus hadn’t wanted to get his hopes up, and yet, there was no denying that once Wystan had put the idea in his head of being published, it had appealed to him.  There was a tightness in his chest, and his limbs felt as though they were weighted down with sand.  Disappointment was the most immediate feeling, and yet, it was also chased by an inky-black sense of resentment, diffusing within him.  Callidus never thought of himself as a particularly aggressive person - he associated such things with the brutish Tobias Snape.  Yet, at this moment, he found himself wanting to pull out his wand, and throw hexes, smashing and destroying everything in sight.  It was just so  _ unfair _ !

 

Callidus didn’t remember leaving the headmaster’s office.  His emotions blurred his sense of space and time, and he found himself in the dungeons, pacing the corridors where his old room used to be.  When he tried the door to the room, it was locked - he knew that his possessions were stored away and safe, but the room was no longer his.  

 

Callidus didn’t feel like facing anyone at the moment - the storm within him was still too fierce, and if anyone drew too near at a time like this, he didn’t think he could stop himself from hurting them.  It took him a while to make sense of the poisonous emotions within him.  A part of Callidus had already been prepared to be let down about being published - after all, only a fool lets himself get ensnared by hope.  However, in his mind, it was always Slughorn letting him down, not Dumbledore.  Slughorn was a weak man, and in all honesty, Callidus expected little of him.  However, with Dumbledore’s involvement - and as Callidus considered it, his body tensed with tremors of fury - to Callidus, it felt like Dumbledore had interfered.  It felt  _ personal _ , as though the headmaster had gone out of his way to bar Callidus from success.  He burned with the horrible sense of injustice, and even if some rational part of him understood why Dumbledore did what he did, it still didn’t stem that inner desire to hex, curse - maybe even punch something.

 

He didn’t return to the Slytherin dungeons until the tumultuous heat within him cooled, leaving him with uncomfortable shivers.  He wasn’t certain that he wanted to speak to anyone, and he knew that Harry and Draco could both be fairly oblivious.  However, he must have been worse at masking emotions than he thought.  As soon as he entered the dorms, Harry’s expression changed from welcome to worry.

 

 “Callidus?” Harry said, sounding uncertain.  “What happened?  You look -”  Harry’s eyebrows knit with concern.

 

The question was uttered quietly, but it still caused the first year boys to look towards him.  Most of them were already sitting on their beds, though he could hear running water indicating that Nott was in the bathroom.

 

 “Dumbledore,” Callidus growled, feeling a fresh twinge of injustice.

 

Draco raised an eyebrow and seemed to sit up straighter.  “Oh?” he drawled, as though thinking a casual tone could hide his evident curiosity.

 

Callidus looked up at Draco and suddenly seemed to notice everyone in the room.  That alone was enough for him to clamp his lips tightly together.  No one other than Harry (and yes, even Draco) needed to know his business.  With a dark flash of his eyes that silently said ‘not here,’ he flopped down on his bed in an ungraceful heap.  Harry shot him worried looks, but in the end, he kept quiet, unwilling to push Callidus when it was evident that Callidus was seething with frustration.


	31. Chapter 31

By the following day, Callidus’s anger remained, but it had become an icy thing, sitting in the pit of his stomach.  He threw all his attention into his classes, and by the time the last class of the day was over, he was drained.  Harry’s focus on the school material seemed to be inversely related to his own.  Usually, Harry showed more interest in the things he was learning - though he had been immersed in the magical world for over half a year, it still held a great deal of novelty.  However, Harry, and even Draco, kept sneaking glances at Callidus, as though they thought that the they could somehow pluck Callidus’s thoughts out of his head if their brows were furrowed enough.

 

After Herbology, Harry grabbed Callidus by the arm and pulled him away from the mass of students heading from the greenhouses towards the castle.  Draco followed behind, like some warden, bent on preventing Callidus’s escape.

 

 “So?” Harry demanded, once the other first years were far enough away.

 

 “What did Dumbledore want?” Draco asked.

 

Thinking of yesterday caused Callidus’s lips to curl into an angry sneer.  “It was about my potions work.”

 

 “Potions?  Not anything related to our prank, is it?” Harry asked. 

 

Draco hissed.  “The Slytherins wouldn’t betray one of their own.”

 

Callidus shook his head. “No, nothing to do with the prank.  It was about my personal experiments.”

 

 “Oh.  You mean how you figured out a way to make potions stronger,” Harry clarified.

 

Callidus nodded.

 

 “What about it?”  Draco asked.  “Did Dumbledore tell you that your so-called new discovery was old news?”

 

Callidus scowled at the blond.  “If you have that much doubt in my abilities, I’m sure I can find several ways to prove my prowess in potions,” Callidus threatened.  “You’d have to watch every bite you eat - be careful with everything you ever touch.  You’d never be safe again.”

 

 “Stop it,” Harry commanded Draco before he could retort.  He turned back to Callidus.  “What did Dumbledore do?”

 

 “Interfered in a matter that had nothing to do with him,” Callidus spat out.

 

 “What do you expect?” Draco retorted.  “Dumbledore has it out for the Slytherins.  He wouldn’t trust one of us if we were in the middle of saving his life.  Not that any of us actually would.”

 

At that moment, Callidus couldn’t help but silently agree.  “He’s barring my research from being published.”

 

 “What?  Why?” Harry asked.

 

 “He thinks it’s too  _ dark, _ ” Callidus explained bitterly.

 

 “How so?”

 

Callidus opened his mouth to reply before snapping it shut again.  He had told Harry and Draco about his extracurricular work, but not in detail.  While his findings were interesting, his methods were actually morally questionable.  The voice of reason in his mind did realize that Dumbledore was right, though this knowledge did nothing to lessen the feelings of unfairness.  Instead, Callidus scowled.

 

 “I don’t want to talk about it,” he muttered darkly.

 

 “My father might be able to help,” Draco suggested.  “He’s on the Board of Governors.  Maybe we could get Dumbledore fired!”

 

 “Just forget about it,” Callidus snapped.

 

 “Fine!” Draco replied irritably. “See if I ever help you again.”

 

Callidus sighed.  “I - look, I know you mean well Draco, but it’s better to just let it go.”

 

 “He shouldn’t be able to get away with treating you unfairly,” Harry opined.

 

Callidus shook his head in frustration.  “I don’t want to talk about this anymore.”

 

Harry and Draco shared a look, but in the end, they acquiesced.  The trio trudged back to the castle in an unhappy silence.

 

In the following days, word had somehow gotten out in the Slytherin House about Callidus’s ability with potions.  No mention was made of Dumbledore in any of these rumours.  Rather the Slytherins came to believe that Callidus was some sort of Potions prodigy, and not only that, but they knew that he had a lab at his disposal.

 

The rumours were rather gratifying, providing a balm that soothed most of Callidus’s anger.  While studying potions was satisfying in and of itself, knowing that others were aware of his ability added a new dimension of appeal.  Perhaps without his mother’s influence, Callidus would have been sorted into Ravenclaw, and there, he would have been satisfied with knowledge for the sake of knowledge.  But this was Slytherin, and Callidus was all too aware of the importance of the perception of others.  He knew that he would have to prove himself somehow - he couldn’t have stayed in Harry and Draco’s shadow forever.  However, fulfilling his ambitions had always seemed like a distant goal - one that would blossom once he had his Potions Mastery. 

 

As for how Callidus became aware of his new status, it wasn’t due to anything as obvious as compliments or admiring glances.  Rather, Callidus found himself on the receiving end of a deluge of requests.  It started when he was pulled aside by a fourth year girl in the common room.

 

 “Are you Callidus Prince?” the brunette had asked, as he exited the dorms.  Callidus looked up at her with mild curiosity, but she had learned to mask her expression well, and he could read nothing from her face.  He gave her a quick nod.

 

 “I need to speak to you.  Somewhere private?”  

 

Callidus pursed his lips, wondering whether or not to trust her, but in the end, his curiosity won out over his caution.  He allowed himself to be pulled into the corridor and towards an empty classroom.

 

 “I’ve heard that you’re able to brew just about anything and that you have a lab at your disposal?” the brunette questioned when they were alone.

 

 “Yes,” Callidus responded hesitantly, wondering where she was going with her questioning.

 

Pulling out a scrap of parchment from her robes, the brunette handed the sheet over to him.  “Would you be able to make this for me?  I’d compensate you, of course.”

 

Callidus looked down at the recipe.  The potion was unnamed - it was simply a list of ingredients and instructions.  It wasn’t too difficult to brew, but it would require patience and precision.  Acquiring the ingredients, however, would be an issue.

 

 “I could make it,” Callidus informed her.  “But I don’t have access to these ingredients.  Some of them are restricted.”

 

 “I can provide the ingredients,” she replied, hastily.  “You’ll make it then?”

 

Callidus looked over the recipe again.  Without descriptors, it was hard to know what the potion was for, but based on his background knowledge, he had a sense that the potion wasn’t anything dark.  But that didn’t mean that it wasn’t questionable.  Still, Callidus was intrigued.

 

 “What kind of compensation?” Callidus asked.  The brunette named a price, and it took an effort for Callidus to keep his expression neutral.  In the end, he agreed, and it wasn’t until the girl left that he broke out in an excited grin.  He might not have hungered for wealth, but to have his upperclassmen come to him for potions certainly stroked his ego.  And if they wanted to pay him for his abilities, then all the better.

 

The brunette’s request was the first amongst many.  Some of the potions were easy, and some were more complicated, but almost all of them were unnamed.  After all, no Slytherin would freely give away their personal business.  With enough time and research into the individual ingredients and their interactions, Callidus could have figured out what each of the potions were for, however, with his magical sensitivity, he was able to intuit the general purpose of each of the potions.  To Callidus’s delight, not only were his upperclassman paying him to do something he already enjoyed, but they were also inadvertently providing him with personal information about themselves.  It left Callidus with a heady sense of power, and once Callidus had a taste of it, he couldn’t help but want more.

 

Callidus couldn’t help but share his newfound source of income (and respect) with Harry and Draco, though he kept quiet about what he brewed.  He was tempted to tell Hermione as well - after all, Potions was one subject where his scores were unquestionably better than hers.  However, Callidus managed to stop himself from bragging.  As a Gryffindor, he had a feeling that she wouldn’t be quite so accepting of his underground Potions trade.

 

 “What did Flint want?” Draco asked, as the trio settled on a stone bench in the Quad. “I saw him talking to you in the hallway.  Was it a potion?”

 

 “I’m not going to reveal what I’m selling to my customers,” Callidus replied, smirking with amusement.

 

Draco pouted.  “But we’re brothers,” he whinged.  “It’s not fair to keep us in the dark.”

 

 “You just want more blackmail material,” Callidus pointed out.  “What I brew is between me and my customers.”

 

 “It’s not anything to do with the upcoming Quidditch match, is it?” Harry asked.  “It wouldn’t be right to cheat.”

 

Callidus shook his head.  “No, nothing like that.  I’m not that reckless.  With the way Flint drives the team, I don’t think we’ll have any issues against the Ravenclaws.”

 

 “What’s wrong with wanting more blackmail material?” Draco questioned.  Callidus just rolled his eyes.

 

 “Did you see Pucey last weekend after practice?” Harry asked, referring to the Slytherin chaser.  “He looked like he could barely walk.  I thought he had been hit by the jelly-legs jinx.”  

 

 “Flint is a sadist,” Callidus remarked.

 

 “I wish I was on the team,” Harry sighed.

 

Callidus snorted.  “That’d make you a masochist.”

 

 “Next year for certain,” Draco affirmed.  “Anyway, it would only further our position to have useful information on the others in our House.”

 

 “And it’d further my position if I had a reputation for being able to keep my mouth shut,” Callidus retorted.

 

Draco huffed.  “No need to be selfish.  We are brothers after all.”

 

Callidus arched a black eyebrow.  “Surely your manipulation techniques are better than that, Draco.”

 

 “I’ll have you know that I’m an expert at manipulation,” Draco scoffed.

 

Callidus hummed.  “I suppose you’d have to be quite proficient at manipulating yourself to actually believe that.”

 

Draco opened his mouth to reply, but he was cut off by Harry.  “D’you reckon anything - er - dangerous will happen at the upcoming match?”

 

 “It’s possible,” Callidus replied.  “We’ll have to keep an eye on all the professors.  We ought to speak to Hermione too, to see if her research has yielded any useful information.  To know that the person is powerful really isn’t enough, unless we happen to catch them in the act.”

 

Harry frowned.  He had been looking forward to watching the Quidditch match, and it struck him as rather disheartening to think that he’d have to watch the professors instead of the game.

 

 “But since that first Quidditch match, the professors have been particularly careful with security,” Callidus added.  “I’m sure we’ll be fine.”

 

When Callidus later met up with Hermione in the library, he learned that there was in fact a way to measure magical power.  Unfortunately, the method was impractical, and the measuring device was both expensive and rare, though Callidus and Hermione ended up having a prolonged discussion on the merits and uses of such a device.  It appeared as though they were at a dead end, to their dismay.

 

Before long, it was the Ravenclaw-Slytherin Quidditch match.  Callidus felt both a mix of apprehension and excitement about the match.  He wanted to be able to enjoy watching the game, but also felt that he had to monitor the adults to keep an eye out for suspicious behaviour.  Furthermore, Hermione had let slip that she would be spending her time doing extra studying rather than watching a ‘silly game,’ and Callidus couldn’t help but fret that her academic performance would surpass his to the point where it would be too difficult to catch up.  She may have been a good friend, but he couldn’t help but think that there was a smug gleam in her eyes whenever she spoke of her school work.  The very thought of it left him with an uncomfortable tension - if only he had more time!  Then he could watch the game, watch the adults, and also study.

 

The day of the match dawned colder than usual, and many of the students looked out the windows of Hogwarts with dismay.  Sleet fell from the sky in greyish white sheets - it looked to be a rather uncomfortable day for a game, even with  _ impervius _ charms and warming spells.  Not that the weather did anything to dim Harry and Draco’s excitement, and the Quidditch captain Marcus Flint looked positively predatory with glee - after all, he never hesitated to make his team practice in the worst possible weather conditions.  In all likelihood, he saw it as an advantage.

 

The poor weather meant that many of the professors opted to skip the match and stay in instead, and even the student attendance was rather low.  Callidus wasn’t certain if this was a good or bad thing - though he supposed that if they were to be attacked at this match, they could narrow the suspects.  

  
The game turned out to be exciting, and surprisingly close, not that Callidus knew.  He spent the whole match closely watching the professors that decided to show up, while Harry and Draco were engrossed in the game (even though they had said that they would help to monitor the teachers.)  Harry may have made a half-hearted attempt to peek over at the professors, but Callidus was sure that Draco didn’t even try.  In the end, nothing happened, except that Harry and Draco were elated that Slytherin won, while Callidus was grumpy about having missed most of the action.


	32. Chapter 32

March soon rolled around, and Callidus continued to receive potion commissions from the Slytherins.  He was making quite a tidy profit, and was very pleased with himself, but at the same time, he longed for an intellectual challenge.  In the end, that challenge arrived in the form of a new project request.  Slytherins could be a rather paranoid bunch, so it came as no surprise when one of the sixth years came to Callidus with an intriguing undertaking.  While most of the other students gave Callidus a recipe and the necessary ingredients, this student wanted something else.

 

 “I heard that you’re brilliant with potions,” said the dark-skinned boy, as the pair spoke in a deserted corridor.

 

Callidus could barely contain his smirk of pleasure at the compliment, but he managed instead to nod (hopefully in a regal and mature manner, but being eleven, it was rather difficult to come across as mature).  

 

 “I need a potion brewed,” the dark-skinned boy explained.  “I don’t have a recipe though.  And I don’t know if you’ll be able to do it.  It doesn’t exist, y’see?”

 

Callidus arched a dark eyebrow.  He was so accustomed to being handed recipes and galleons that he was immediately interested.  

 

 “I want a potion that can preemptively protect someone from poison.  Maybe not all poisons, but most,” the boy continued.

 

It was hard to maintain his cool demeanour.  Such a project would be immensely difficult to achieve.  Especially considering Golpalott’s Third Law which stated that the antidote of blended poisons would be equal to more than the sum of the antidotes for each of the separate components.  But at the same time, it sounded exactly like the sort of thing a Slytherin would request.

 

 “It may not be possible,” Callidus informed the boy.  “Not a preemptive antidote anyway.  However, if you want a general potion that can forestall but not cure the damage, that might be doable.”

 

The other boy nodded.  “Even that would be better than nothing.  So, you’ll do it?”

 

 “Yes, but if I succeed, I want all credit and rights to the potion.  And if, in the unlikely circumstance that I don’t succeed, I still need the cost of the ingredients to be covered.”

 

 “Deal,” the boy affirmed, looking as pleased as Callidus felt.

 

The new commission meant that Callidus was more enthusiastic about spending time in the both the lab and library than ever.  He had created experimental potions before, but in those cases, he was altering a preexisting potion to alter its effects.  It was a different matter to create an entirely new potion, and an exciting chance to make use of his magical sensitivity, which was constantly improving with practice.  While many potions had limited effects on the body, he needed to create a potion that either had permanent effects, or long lasting effects.  It would hardly be practical if one had to take such a potion on a daily basis.  

 

During his time in the library, as he scoured book after book, he came across the muggle concept of mithridatization, which involved protecting oneself from poisons by self-administering non-lethal amounts.  Combining that process with magic meant that a poison-protective potion was well within the realms of possibility, without the long timespan that mithridatization involved. 

 

 “What are you researching?” Hermione asked.  She was sitting across from him at a library table.  “That doesn’t look like anything we’ve been assigned.”

 

Hermione already had her study schedule planned and colour-coded for final exams, and was diligently reviewing material, even though their exams were months away.  Having grown comfortable with Callidus, Harry and Draco, she had been harping them about about keeping up with their studying, and as a result, Harry and Draco had fled to the Slytherin dungeons to avoid her nagging.

 

 “I’m trying to develop a new potion,” he told her.  “It’s part of my mentorship with Slughorn.”  He knew the words would make her jealous, and indeed, Hermione looked as though she had just been forced to suck a lemon.  He liked Hermione a lot, but as much as he liked her, he liked making people jealous just as much.  It was a gratifying feeling, being envied.  He tried not to gloat.

 

 “Just because you’ve been given extracurricular academic projects, it doesn’t mean that you should be neglecting your regular assignments.”

 

Callidus knew that she was right.  He was still doing very well in his other classes, but he wasn’t putting in a Hermione-level of effort, which meant that he wasn’t doing exceptionally well.  If he wasn’t careful, she’d pull ahead in a significant number of classes.  Having the admiration of others served to remind him that academic achievement wasn’t everything but still, he wanted to  _ win _ , and top grades were a form of winning.

 

 “I suppose,” he said with a sigh, which made Hermione look rather self-satisfied.  He pulled out his Charms and Transfiguration course books.  Hermione was strongest in Charms, Transfiguration and History, but Callidus found History classes boring enough (and impractical enough) that he just couldn’t put forth the same level of effort in History as in his other classes.  Letting Hermione be top of the class in History really wouldn’t be the end of the world.

 

 “I’m still doing research on who might be trying to hurt you and Harry,” Hermione informed him, consolingly.  “Our studies are important, but so are your lives.”

 

 “I thought we were at a dead end.”  Callidus was still concerned about the matter, but with the distraction of potions research, prank research, and life in general, the question of who was hurting him was not at the forefront of his mind.  Instead, he had ended up following Dumbledore’s advice of sticking in groups.  He couldn’t help but feel a rush of warmth at Hermione’s caring nature.

 

 “Well, I haven’t discovered any new leads on who might be hurting you, but I have been looking into defensive magics.  Especially magic that might aid you if you’re dealing with powerful offensive attacks.”

 

 “Oh?”  Callidus was intrigued, but also silently kicking himself for not considering the matter.  Beyond some cursory research into shield charms, which he had practiced and wasn’t particularly strong at, he hadn’t given the subject further thought.

 

Hermione nodded leaning forwards.  There was that intense look in her eyes that came with discovering and imparting knowledge.  “Since we’re dealing with a witch or wizard with an immense amount of power, I thought it worthwhile to see if I could find anything that might suppress one’s magic.”

 

 “Level the playing field,” Callidus murmured.

 

 “Precisely,” Hermione agreed.  “I came across several options, but not all of them are practical.  There’s potions, of course, but the problem is trying to administer the potion.  We’d have to know specifically who we were dealing with for that to be effective.”

 

 “We could always just dose all the professors,” Callidus suggested, until it occurred to him that he had just made the suggestion to Hermione.  Harry and Draco would think it was a reasonable idea, but Hermione’s appalled expression clearly stated that she thought otherwise.  “I was just - jesting,” Callidus lied weakly, while silently reminding himself to look up the potion.

 

Hermione narrowed her eyes, and it was obvious that she had her doubts, but she accepted his words at face value.  “There are also charms and other spells that can suppress magic, but if we’re dealing with a powerful witch or wizard, they would be able to deflect the charms.  Still, they’re worth learning, on the off chance that we catch our culprit off guard.  I’ve been practicing the charms on my own time.  Here -” she handed him some notes on the specific charm, with the incantation and wand movement.

 

 “The other possibility is a runic configuration that I found.  It’s very challenging to learn, and mistakes can backfire and cause a great deal of harm, but once cast, it’s effective, regardless of the power of the witch or wizard, so long as they are standing in the field of effect.”  Hermione opened a book to a bookmarked page, and turned it towards him.  The material was advanced, and as first years, neither of them knew anything about runes, but the description was very promising.  If either of them could master the configuration, it would be immensely advantageous.

 

 “If we were to try and learn it, we can’t do it on our own.  If one of us gets injured, the other needs to be there to make sure that person gets to the infirmary,” Hermione stressed.  Callidus nodded in agreement.

 

 “We could meet in an empty classroom to practice it,” Callidus suggested.  Hermione smiled in reply.  Not only were they doing something useful, but they were learning something new and advanced, and both of them were excited by the prospect.  After planning a place and time to meet, they returned to their homework, spending the rest of the evening in productive study.

 

Hermione may have dismissed the option of using a potion to suppress magic, but Callidus thought it would be foolish to limit their options.  Thus, he sought out the potion that Hermione had mentioned, copying down the recipe so that he could brew some in his free time.  However, his lab time was primarily spent on trying to create the poison countermeasure.  With the information he had found on mithridatization, his knowledge of potions theory, and his magical sensitivity, he was making excellent progress.  It was going better than the prank potion, which was starting to give him a headache.

 

He was in Potions Lab nine, making use of his magical sensitivity to find ingredients that could amplify magical magical immunity, and confer protection to the potion drinker while they were dosed with large, but non-lethal amounts of poison.  He had already started on a cauldron of the the magic suppressing potion, but it was at a stage where it needed to brew in chilled conditions for a sennight.  While he scribbled down hasty notes, sorting through the ingredients, Wystan entered the lab, trailed by his new girlfriends.

 

 “Hey, Callidus,” Wystan greeted cheerfully.

 

Callidus looked up from his notes.  “Hello Wystan.  Wasn’t sure if you were going to come by this evening.”

 

 “It’s not as though you ever really need me here.” Wystan rolled his eyes, but there was an amused brightness in his eyes.  “You don’t ever even blow up any cauldrons,” he added with an exaggerated sigh.

 

 “Explosive potions are too lacking in subtlety,” Callidus retorted.  “Imploding potions on the other hand -” he trailed off thoughtfully, as Wystan chuckled.

 

 “Oh!  Have you met Calypso yet?”  Wystan guided his girlfriend forward.  Unlike his last girlfriend, she was petite, with curly brown hair and a curvy figure.  “Calypso, this is Callidus.”

 

 “Hello.” Callidus gave her a friendly smile.  Callidus still wasn’t a people-person, but he was starting to learn that it wasn’t really the best idea to antagonize people from the get go.  One only needed to consider someone like Greengrass (or even Hermione) to realize the problems that could arise from offending new acquaintances.  “Wystan has told me all about you.”

 

Calypso looked taken aback by his statement.  Her face was almost as expressive as Harry’s.  But she quickly caught herself, and replied with a hesitant smile.  “Nice to meet you.  Wystan has told me about you as well.  You’re not what I expected.”

 

Callidus raised his eyebrow at Wystan.

 

 “I didn’t tell her anything bad!” Wystan exclaimed defensively.  “I just said that you’re really passionate about potions.”

 

 “And you were picturing someone hunched over a cauldron with sallow skin and a general lack of hygiene?” Callidus asked Calypso, with a smirk on his lips.  He supposed that since he was using his Grease-B-Gone Potion today, he looked more ‘polished’ than usual, but for the most part, he didn’t care about impressing people with his appearance.  He did learn that it was advantageous for his business though; it helped to present a tidy looking front.  Not that he would admit to Parkinson that her gift was useful, but from the girl’s knowing looks, she probably already knew.

 

Calypso flushed with embarrassment.  “N - no,” she stammered.  “Nothing quite so bad.”

 

Wystan rolled his eyes.  “Don’t take him seriously, love,” he reassured her.  “Just because he looks presentable today, it doesn’t mean that he always looks presentable.”

 

 “And just because Wystan acts charming today, it doesn’t mean that he’s always charming,” Callidus responded smoothly.  The statement startled a giggle out of Calypso.

 

 “When have I ever been less than charming?” Wystan inquired.

 

 “In fourth year, he came up to me outside the Charms corridor and he said: ‘I can tell you got an O in that class, because you have me completely charmed.’” Calypso confided to Callidus.

 

Callidus gave Wystan an incredulous look before breaking into a helpless guffaw, while Wystan flushed, looking more embarrassed than Callidus had ever seen him.

 

 “It was - kind of charming,” Wystan protested.  

 

 “My friends made fun of me for months after,” Calypso admitted, grinning so widely that both her cheeks dimpled.  Her eyes met Callidus’s, and once again, there was a bewildered look in her eyes, but she quickly shook it off with a smile.  Callidus had the feeling that she was usually shy.

 

 “I can see why Wystan likes you,” Callidus told her.

 

Calypso blushed, unable to meet his eyes.  “I can see why Wystan likes you too.  I didn’t -”

 

 “Didn’t what?” Wystan asked, when it was clear that she wouldn’t finish the sentence.

 

Calypso shook her head, causing her curls to bounce.  “Nevermind.”  She smiled up at him, but the smile looked a bit strained.

 

 “Well, if you don’t need me for anything, I’m heading off.  Calypso and I have a date.”

 

 “Wait - so if I did actually need you for something, you would have just forced Calypso to keep us company?” Callidus asked, raising his eyebrow again.

 

 “Erm -”

 

Callidus shook his head and smirked.  “I don’t know why I ever got the impression that you were sensible.”

 

 “Oh shut up.  You’re just a first year.  What would you know?” Wystan replied with amusement.

 

 “I don’t think you want me to answer that in front of your girlfriend,” Callidus warned with a smile.  “See you later then, Wystan.”

 

 “Oh, I will,” Wystan replied with a wicked grin, while Calypso just shook her head and smiled.

 

 “Nice meeting you, Callidus.  Bye!”  

 

Callidus waved her off with a grin.  Though he may have ribbed Wystan, the fact was that he genuinely liked the older boy, and hoped that he would be happy.  It was clear that Wystan was thrilled to be with Calypso, and Callidus was happy for him.

 

As early March became late March, Draco became increasingly tense and irritable.  He had been receiving letters from his father stressing the importance of getting top grades, because after all, Malfoys were supposed to be ‘The Best.’  Even his lovely care-packages from his mother did little to improve his mood.  Academically, Draco was doing fairly well, even if he and Harry often slacked off on studying for the chance to fly (and train for next year’s Quidditch tryouts).  However, Draco wasn’t doing as well as either Callidus or Hermione.

 

Perhaps it wouldn’t have been so upsetting to be bested by Callidus - Callidus was a fellow Slytherin after all, and to Draco, it was evident that Callidus was obsessive about his grades.  However Hermione was a different matter.  While Draco may have come to grudgingly accept (and maybe even like) Hermione, he was appalled by the idea of being bested by a muggleborn.  If his father knew, he’d flay him alive.  Well, not really, but that look of disappointment was just as bad as being flayed alive, right?

 

Making matters even more stressful was Hermione’s rigourous study schedule that she had written up for Callidus, Harry and Draco (not that Callidus needed it).  It seemed to create an overwhelming degree of conflict in Draco’s mind that he was in competition with someone who was so eager to help him.  He both appreciated the study schedule, and yet, resented it.  Callidus could see that some part of Draco wanted to hate Hermione, but in the end, he couldn’t.

 

Of the four of them, Harry was the most laid back about his grades, however, Harry had his own concerns.  Easter Break was soon approaching, which meant that he had to prepare for his interview with the  _ Daily Prophet _ .  And since Callidus and Hermione were very zealous about their academic performance at the best of times, it meant that all four of them were worked up into a state of nervous tension.

 

 “When I heard that muggles and muggleborns were dangerous, I didn’t realize that danger meant death by studying,” Draco groaned.  The trio were in the Slytherin dungeons, after a brutal library session with Hermione.  Draco had his head on Parkinson’s lap, while Harry rested his head on her shoulder, with Callidus perched on the armrest.

 

 “Poor baby,” Parkinson cooed mockingly, stroking his pale blond hair.  “Using that muggleborn sounds like so much work.”

 

Zabini’s lip curled upwards in amusement, and he hummed.  “Indeed who would have ever guessed that Malfoy would think to - hm - use a muggleborn.”  It was clear from Parkinson’s and Zabini’s tone of voice that they did not buy into the rumour about the trio’s so-called fake relationship with Granger, but they were clever enough to keep their mouths closed about it.

 

Greengrass, who sat across from them, looked sour and unhappy, quietly complaining to Nott who had his nose in a book.

 

 “I think it’s a brilliant idea,” said Bulstrode.  Callidus wasn’t sure whether she believed the rumours or not, but the large girl was remarkably supportive, and Callidus could honestly say that he liked her.  

 

 “As long as you’re careful to keep your distance,” Davis added softly, looking concerned for Harry.

 

 “Erm -” Harry’s gaze shifted nervously down to Draco who was slowly relaxing under Parkinson’s ministrations.  While Davis often joined Draco and Harry during their flying, she didn’t seem quite as close to Harry anymore, and spent much of her time with Bulstrode instead.

 

 “We should spend the break at the manor,” Draco declared, opening his grey eyes and looking up at Harry.

 

Harry bit his lower lip.  “I dunno.”

 

Draco looked past Harry up to Callidus.  “You know, the manor has a very extensive library.  It contains tomes that Hogwarts doesn’t even carry.”

 

Callidus felt an intense spark of interest.  Last time he was at the Malfoy manor, he barely had time to explore the library.  He might not need it for classwork, but it might yield helpful information for his potions projects.  Furthermore, being magically blood related to Draco meant access to the private library.

 

Harry groaned, knowing Draco’s argument would sway Callidus.  

 

 “Your interview won’t even take one day,” Draco pointed out to Harry.  “And we have better brooms at the manor than Hogwarts does.  We could fly every day!”

 

 “We can plan a date to come by and visit you three at the manor, can’t we Blaise?” Parkinson questioned.

 

 “My mother is occupied with her new husband.  I doubt she’ll notice my absence,” Zabini replied coolly.  Callidus had the feeling that Zabini did not care for his new stepfather.

 

 “Then it’s settled!” Parkinson squealed gleefully.

 

 “Don’t I get a say in this?” Draco grumbled.

 

 “Oh shush,” Parkinson scolded.  “You love us, and you know it.  We should plan a day to go shopping!  I think you need a new wardrobe to go with your lovely hair, Cal.”

 

Callidus grimaced.  “I’m not your doll,  _ Pans _ .”

 

 “Pish posh,” Parkinson replied.  “I don’t think you’d know what to do with yourself without me.”

 

 “Merlin save me from interfering females,” Callidus groaned.

 

Parkinson leaned towards Callidus and patted his cheek.  “The sooner you learn to submit, the happier you’ll be, darling.”

 

Harry just laughed.  “You’re really scary Pansy.”

  
Parkinson gave him a self-satisfied smile.  “I do my best Harry.”


	33. Chapter 33

Early April passed by in a blur of school work, studying and potions experimentation.  His early discovery of the process of mithridatization expedited the process of creating the poison countermeasure potion.  He did not even need to create a new potion altogether, but instead, was able to modify and combine three other potions until he had a base that he could tweak in order to create the final recipe.  But that didn’t mean that Callidus’s reasons for wanting to go to the Malfoy manor had vanished.  On the contrary, he still felt a strong desire to peruse the Malfoy library, if only to expand his understanding of the Dark Arts (since the subject was neglected at Hogwarts.)

 

Callidus also completed the magic suppressing potion, having enough batches for all the professors neatly stored in small phials.  He had no idea how he would go about administering the doses to the professors, but he figured that Harry and Draco would help him with that.  Harry did have a great deal of Camouflage potion left, after all.  The potion wouldn’t take away the professor’s magic altogether - it would only limit their powers.  But Callidus was also aware that using such a potion on the teachers could result in a suspension or worse, an expulsion.  And what if the professors were on his side and trying to help him?  Either way, at least he had the potion on hand.  

 

He had also met up with Hermione in an empty classroom to practice the runic pattern that could suppress magic.  Neither Hermione nor Callidus had Harry or Draco’s recklessness, but even so, the magic was complicated and difficult.   It was a unique type of runic field, in that the runes were to be drawn in the air, rather than inscribed into any objects.  It meant that the field had a certain inherent instability, that depended on the casting abilities of the witch or wizard.  And while neither of them suffered injury from their attempts, they were incredibly drained by their efforts.  They had not succeeded in creating the magic suppressing field, but it was success enough to have started on the process without doing serious harm to themselves. 

 

 “I know it’s a risk, but I think we should have Harry and Draco join us,” Callidus suggested, as he tried to catch his breath, sweating from the endurance needed for such complex magic.

 

Hermione pursed her lips, her skin flushed and her eyes dull from weariness.  “It would increase the likelihood of serious injury.  Neither of them are as meticulous and careful as we are.”

 

 “Yes, but Harry is more magically powerful.  His body would be able to sustain the field better than either of us could.  As long as we’re both here, we can keep an eye on the two of them to prevent any accidents.”

 

Hermione hummed.  “I suppose that makes sense.  If anything were to happen to either of us, it would offer us more defences to have Harry and Draco as back-up.”

 

In the end, Harry and Draco ended up joining them, and while their first session resulted in a rather dramatic explosion (and a panicked trip to the infirmary but thankfully no detention), the other two boys were much more careful thereafter, and their progress hastened as they helped each other to master the runic configuration.

 

Before he knew it, Easter break was upon them, and the trio were packed and on their way to Malfoy Manor.  Callidus had avoided mentioning the trip to Dumbledore.  Ever since the headmaster told him that his discovery wouldn’t be published in any journals, Callidus had distanced himself from the old man.  The sense of betrayal still lingered, and as a result, he had no desire to confide in Dumbledore anymore, the way that he used to.

 

For this trip, they weren’t required to wear formal robes, but that didn’t make Harry or Callidus feel much more relaxed.  Draco’s family acted so effortlessly polished, that it was easy to feel boorish in comparison.  Even liberal amounts of Grease-B-Gone potion, and fresh clean robes didn’t make Callidus feel tidy enough.  And of course, once again, Callidus needed to wear the appearance altering ring, since the elder Malfoys would be in for a shock if they saw his real appearance.  Though some small voice within Callidus did wonder what would happen if he did reveal himself to Lucius Malfoy.  Would it be worth the risk?

 

Draco (oblivious prat that he was) was so caught up in his own excitement that he seemed unaware of Callidus and Harry’s reservations.  He had gotten his way when he convinced the other two boys to stay with him over Easter break, and seemed to think that his happiness would be shared by them.  Draco never was very good at putting himself in another wizard’s shoes (or what was more often the case, dragonhide boots.)

 

The trio were picked up at King’s Cross station by Draco’s parents, and while Narcissa Malfoy was as gracious as ever, Callidus couldn’t help but feel that same discomfort towards Lucius Malfoy, causing all thoughts of revealing himself to Lucius to immediately be discarded.  When Callidus looked over at Harry, it was evident that the black-haired boy felt the same as well.  Something in Lucius Malfoy’s grey eyes was too assessing, too power-hungry, too predatory.  For someone like Draco, it might have pushed him towards being more eager to please, but for those like Harry or Callidus, it created a desire to shore up their defences, and hide their vulnerabilities.  While Callidus knew that Harry was dealing with Lucius Malfoy because he wanted to be free of his horrible muggles, there was still the feeling that Harry was playing with fire.  

 

Malfoy manor felt larger than ever when it wasn’t filled with guests.  The space was so white, with its gleaming gold accents, that Callidus felt a bit like a speck of dirt amidst the shining, clean space.  If not for Draco’s casual indifference to the wealth around him, Callidus would have felt uncomfortable to even breath.  Draco’s parents left the trio of boys to settle themselves in, just as a house-elf popped into place in front of them.

 

The timid house-elf, with tennis-ball like green eyes was named Dobby and he was assigned to Callidus and Harry.  While Dobby was polite enough to Callidus, he seemed utterly taken with Harry, much to Harry’s discomfort.

 

 “Such an honour it is to have the great and noble Harry Potter as Dobby’s master!” the elf exulted, looking as though he were about to cry with joy.  It was fortunate that the elder Malfoys has left the trio alone, or the scene would have been even more awkward.

 

 “Erm - thanks?” Harry replied, backing away from the over emotional creature.

 

 “Take them to their rooms, Dobby!” Draco commanded imperiously, causing Dobby’s demeanour to change from ardent to nervous.  However, the house-elf was quick to obey.  Callidus and Harry shared a look, uncertain of what to make of the house-elf, but they could only assume that it was normal behaviour.

 

As they ventured past the entrance to a new wing of the manor, they noticed the style had changed.  Instead of marble and gold, there was half-wood paneling, elegant wallpaper, and intricate carpets.  Pretty landscape paintings covered the walls, showing windswept seas, or rolling meadows so entrancing it was almost like looking out a window into a picturesque dreamscape.  Callidus could have almost sworn that he saw a dragon flying across one of the depictions of a mountainside.  

 

They were led up a flight of stairs, to a long corridor with several doors.  Callidus and Harry were each assigned a room, bigger than even their dormitory in the Slytherin dungeons.  Uncomfortable with so much space to themselves, Callidus and Harry decided that they would share a room instead.  After all, the bed was so big, that even if they spread out their arms and legs, they wouldn’t be anywhere near touching.  Draco had seemed a bit put out that Callidus and Harry would be together, but in the end, his desire for his own comfort won, and he opted to remain in his own lavish bedroom.

 

However, Dobby’s reaction was a surprise.  The house-elf began to wail, and bang his head against the wall.

 

 “Dobby is a failure!” the house-elf cried, followed by a bang as he thumped his head.  “Dobby failed to guess what would please his Masters Harry and Callidus!”  Another thump.  “Dobby must punish himself!”  And yet another thump.

 

 “Stop it!” Harry exclaimed, shocked by the creature’s self abuse.  “Draco, why is he doing that?”

 

 “Dobby, enough!” Draco ordered.  The house-elf stopped his actions, but his lower lip continued to wobble perilously, and he pulled at his bat-like ears as if the gesture was the only thing keeping him from banging his head against the wall again.

 

 “Dobby,” Harry began hesitantly.  “The room is perfect.  Callidus and I are very happy with it.”

 

Harry looked over to Callidus who nodded in agreement.  “It’s even nicer than our dorms at Hogwarts,” Callidus added.  And indeed, it was a beautiful room, with wood panelling, elegant flocked green wallpaper, lush carpets and matching furniture. 

 

 “Masters Harry and Callidus are so kind!” Dobby gasped, as though he had just unwrapped the best gift of his life.  He still looked as though he were ready to cry, but instead of tears of dismay, he looked as though he was once again about to cry with rapture.  “Dobby is overjoyed that Master Harry and Callidus are now a part of the Malfoy house and family.”

 

 “Erm - we’re glad to be part of the family too,” Harry replied, trying to search for the best thing to say to placate the sensitive elf.  “But please, don’t punish yourself.  You don’t have to keep doing that.”

 

Dobby’s already wide eyes somehow widened even more.  It was remarkable that they didn’t fall out of his skull.  While Callidus could understand how Harry would want the elf to stop hurting himself, it was clear that Harry’s words were pushing Dobby towards a state of fanatical worship.  

 

“Master Harry is too kind!  Too good!  But Dobby is always having to punish himself, sir.  Dobby expects to be given punishments.”

 

 “Expect punishments?  Draco, what is he talking about?” Harry asked, his dark eyebrows furrowed.

 

 “Dobby has said too much!” Dobby began wailing once again, and this time, he picked up a book off one of the bookshelves against the wall and began to smack himself with it.

 

 “Stop!” Harry cried.

 

 “Dobby, I order you to stop punishing yourself,” Callidus burst out, trying to take control of the situation.  Being blood related meant that Dobby should treat his commands with the same weight as any other Malfoy.  Dobby had the book in front of his face, but he had paused his motion, blinking at Callidus rather owlishly. 

 

 “Set the book down, Dobby,” Callidus kept his tone commanding, and Dobby quickly obeyed.

 

 “Dobby, you’re dismissed,” Draco told to elf, but before the elf could disapparate, Harry called out: “Wait!”

 

The poor house-elf trembled, looking between Draco and Harry, unsure of who to obey.  Harry gave Draco a mutinous look, and eventually, Draco huffed with irritation.

 

He made a casual gesture of capitulation.  “Fine.  Stay, Dobby.”

 

Harry crossed his arms, and his green eyes pinned Draco’s.  “Explain.”  Even Callidus was curious to know what Draco would say about the self-harming house-elf.

 

Draco too had crossed his arms, but his expression had become defencive.  “It’s just what house-elves do if they misbehave.”

 

 “In what way was Dobby misbehaving?” Callidus asked.  While Dobby was certainly an excitable creature, that hardly warranted punishment, though Callidus could see how Dobby’s behaviour could grow to become irritating.

 

 “He -” Draco looked over at the quailing Dobby.  He was so accustomed to seeing the house-elves punished that he did not give the matter much thought, and while Dobby was punished more than the other house-elves, Draco had always assumed that it was deserved.  But when he tried to put to words why Dobby deserved punishment, he could not seem to find a good reason. 

 

 “He spoke out of turn,” Draco finally reasoned.  Dobby tugged at his ears, looking as though he were about to rip them off his head.

 

 “Cease that pulling!” Callidus ordered, distracted by the house-elf’s motions.  Dobby stopped immediately.

 

 “It seems needlessly cruel for Dobby to punish himself over something so small,” Harry remarked.  “If he does something wrong, isn’t it enough to just ask him to stop?”

 

Draco’s lips thinned, and he knit his brow as he considered Harry’s reasoning.  “But how else will he learn?”

 

Harry rolled his eyes.  “Draco, I really don’t think that the best way to learn something is through punishment.  If that were the case, we might as well just let the professors at Hogwarts start caning us, and we’d all be geniuses.”  Harry looked over at Dobby, his expression thoughtful.  “What sort of things do you get punished for Dobby?”

 

Dobby began to wring his hands nervously, glancing from Draco to Harry.  “Dobby mustn't speak ill of his family.”

 

Harry turned back at Draco.  “What does he get punished for, Draco?”

 

 “It isn’t me!” Draco defended.  “It’s mostly my father.”

 

Callidus arched a black eyebrow.  “And what does your father punish him for?”  He couldn’t help wanting to know what to expect of someone like Lucius Malfoy.

 

Draco’s expression was stubborn.  “My father is the head of the house.  He knows what’s best.”

 

Harry sighed.  It would be close to impossible to get Draco to speak ill of his father.  And while it was a bit reassuring to think that Draco did not dole out of the house-elf’s punishments, it did not improve either Harry’s or Callidus’s impression of Lucius Malfoy.  Since the discussion could go no further, they dismissed Dobby, who gave one last unabashedly joyful glance at both Harry and Callidus, before vanishing.

 

That night, Callidus and Harry ended up discussing the matter of the timid house-elf and Lucius Malfoy.  It was quite late, since Draco had been reluctant to leave the two of them alone, but eventually, he dragged himself off to his own bedroom.  Callidus and Harry were sitting cross-legged on the immense four-poster bed atop the deep forest-green bedding, cozy in their pyjamas.

 

 “This morning was - erm - interesting,” Harry remarked.

 

 “You mean the house-elf?” Callidus asked.

 

Harry nodded.  “I didn’t think he’d get so excited.  Do you really think that he irons his own hands?”

 

 “What?” Callidus was bewildered by the bizarre question.

 

 “Don’t you remember?  We had a discussion about house-elves that first morning at Hogwarts.  Draco said that house-elves iron their own hands.  I couldn’t forget something like that.  I thought he might have been exaggerating or making it up, but after meeting Dobby, I’m not too sure anymore.”

 

The very idea was disturbing, and it must have shown on Callidus’s face.  He had forgotten that long ago discussion, distracted by all the other things happening in his life.

 

 “I hope it’s not not true,” Harry added darkly.  “Dobby was a bit - er - overbearing, but not enough to deserve that kind of self-punishment.  It makes me a little sick, actually.  I can’t believe Draco can just ignore it.”

 

Callidus could easily believe that Draco could ignore house-elf abuse.  “He’s probably seen it his whole life,” Callidus pointed out.  “He acts like it’s normal enough.”

 

Harry pursed his lips, looking unhappy.  “I wish there was something we could do for them.  Dobby did say that we’re his masters.  Can’t we just tell him to never hurt himself again?”

 

 “From what I can recall, I think the head of the house can overrule any orders made to house-elves.”

 

Harry’s expression became even darker.  “Draco’s dad.”  The pair were silent for a moment, as they contemplated Lucius Malfoy.  “He make me nervous, for some reason,” Harry confessed.  “Sometimes I feel like he’s testing me or something.  At the winter party, he kept asking me about school, but it didn’t feel like he was asking to be polite.  It was as though he was trying to see how I measured up.  He made a comment about how I must be a great wizard to have vanquished Voldemort - though he didn’t call him that.  I think he called him the Dark Lord but I can’t exactly remember because I was so nervous.  He said it like a compliment but it didn’t feel like one.  Draco’s mum is nice enough, though.”

 

 “He makes me uneasy as well,” Callidus confided.  “He strikes me as the sort of person who only pays attention to those who can do something for him.”

 

 “Yeah, he is rather like that.  He says he is trying to help me, but I feel like there must be an ulterior motive.  I just don’t know what it is.”

 

 “And naturally, he’d never reveal it.”  The elder Malfoy was a Slytherin after all.  “Do you think Draco might know?”

 

 “Draco?”  Harry’s expression was thoughtful.  “Maybe.  He writes his dad all the time.”

 

Callidus smirked.  “Yes, but I imagine that the bulk of his letters consist of him bragging about himself.  That or complaining to his father about something or other.”

 

Harry chuckled.  “He’s not that bad.”

 

 “He is!”

 

 “He’s not that bad all the time.”

 

Callidus rolled his eyes.

 

 “I s’pose that as long as it gets me away from my relatives, then that’s what matters,” Harry mused.

 

 “Are you nervous?” Callidus asked, referring to the impending interview.

 

Harry nodded.  “I hate the idea of being all over the papers.  It shouldn’t be anyone else’s business but my own.”

 

 “Maybe Mr. Malfoy just wants the positive attention from helping you.”

 

 “Do you think that’s all it is?”

 

 “If it were Draco, then yes.”

 

Harry laughed.  “I guess Mr. Malfoy is like an older, scarier Draco.  I hope Draco doesn’t end up like him.”

 

 “Don’t let Draco hear you say that.  I get the feeling that he’d be quite pleased to end up being the same as his father.”

 

Harry wrinkled his nose.  “That sounds horrid.”  A thought seemed to have occurred to him.  “If Draco is our brother, does that make Mr. Malfoy our father?”

 

Callidus grimaced.  “The notion never even crossed my mind.  Now I’m going to be up all night thinking about it.”

 

Harry chuckled.  “Sorry.  Draco did say that he wouldn’t tell his parents about our bond.  I suppose it’s all right as long as they never find out.”

 

 “Let’s hope they never do.”

 

The following day, Harry met up with Lucius Malfoy to plan and discuss his upcoming interview with the  _ Daily Prophet _ .  To Callidus’s surprise, Lucius Malfoy allowed him and Draco to join them, and so, after a lunch that was more lavish than anything they had ever eaten at Hogwarts, the trio entered Lucius Malfoy’s study and sat down at the chairs in front of his immense oak desk.

 

Though Lucius Malfoy was Draco’s father, Callidus was surprised to see Draco’s body language change as he entered his father’s study.  The blond boy’s posture was straighter, and yet he didn’t project confidence but rather, respect mixed with a certain guardedness.  While Draco may have looked up to his father and wanted to be like him, Draco also seemed slightly wary of him, as though fearing to disappoint the older man.

 

 “I’ve set up an interview with a select acquaintance of mine at the  _ Prophet _ ,” the elder Malfoy informed Harry.  “The questions he will ask you will all be vetted beforehand, so there shall not be any surprises.  But before that, we will have to discuss your history with the - muggles” (‘muggles’ was said with deep distaste).

 

Harry gave Draco a nervous look, which Draco answered with an encouraging nudge.

 

 “This is all in your best interest, Harry,” Lucius Malfoy asserted.  “Only by swaying public opinion can we hope to free you from your situation.  I only wish to help.”  Despite his words, Harry didn’t look entirely reassured.  And being a Slytherin, Harry now knew better than to believe that someone would ‘help’ out of the goodness of their hearts - especially not someone like Lucius Malfoy.

 

However, Lucius seemed to read Harry’s expression of doubt correctly and answered with a wolfish smile.  “This will benefit me as much as it benefits you.  Your interview would aid me in spreading the word about a cause that lies close to my heart.”

 

Somewhat mollified by the explanation, Harry began to describe his history with his muggle relatives.  Callidus and Draco had long ago heard the stories of Harry’s negligent and abusive relatives, but hearing it again was just as disturbing as the first time.  For Callidus, it brought back the memories of his life with his wastrel of a father, and as much as Callidus mistrusted Lucius Malfoy, he hoped that the older man would successfully help to free Harry from the clutches of the Dursleys.

 

After hearing Harry’s account, there was dangerous gleam in the eyes of the elder Malfoy.  He looked as though he were ready to personally blast down the door of Harry’s relatives and torture them under the  _ Cruciatus _ curse.  But the older man kept his emotions under control, and instead, suggested ways that Harry might change his wording and descriptions during the interview.

 

Harry squirmed and seemed uncomfortable with the whole idea.  Some idealistic part of himself hated the idea of misleading people, but Lucius, Draco, and even Callidus saw the situation differently.

 

 “It isn’t exaggeration to say that they abused you,” Callidus insisted.  “They shut you away in a cupboard under the stairs, and withheld meals.”

 

 “Yeah - but - other people had it worse,” Harry mumbled uneasily, looking like he wanted into sink into his chair.

 

 “This isn’t about other people,” Draco pointed out.  “It’s about you, and those awful muggles.”

 

 “Indeed,” Lucius Malfoy affirmed.  “No muggles should ever treat a magical child that way.”

 

Between the three of them, they managed to get Harry to see the situation from their point of view.  The interview would be held two days hence, and Lucius Malfoy assured Harry that he would be with him the entire time (not that that was really reassuring, but it was better than being alone).

 

The rest of Easter break was much more enjoyable (aside from the stiff and formal meals with the elder Malfoys).  Harry and Draco spent far too much time flying (when they should have been studying), while Callidus explored the Malfoy library.  He even opened and ventured into the Malfoy private library twice, and found an intriguing book on borderline dark spells.  Making use of his magical sensitivity, he was aware that it was the most benign book within the private library.  If he attempted to read the other books, he knew there was a risk of accidentally cursing himself, so even if the other books were terribly alluring, he suppressed his intense curiosity. To Callidus’s great pleasure, he also came across an interesting tidbit of information  in the main library that provided a breakthrough for the prank potion.  And unexpectedly, he found himself delving into old genealogical tonnes, fascinated by pure blood history, and the link between the Princes and the Malfoys.

  
Harry’s interview went smoothly, and since the reporter was an acquaintance of Lucius Malfoy, he treated Harry with respect and did his best to make the boy comfortable.  The trio met up with their Slytherin classmates, and with the accompaniment of Narcissa Malfoy, they spent a day at Diagon Alley (while Callidus and Harry did their best to resist Parkinson’s insistence that they buy new clothes).  Before long, they were on the Hogwarts Express, returning back to castle that was like their home (and leaving behind a very mournful Dobby).


	34. Chapter 34

Harry’s interview with the  _ Daily Prophet _ ended up being first page news and when the trio were back at Hogwarts, it was all that anybody could talk about.  Alarmed by all the attention, Harry clammed up about the interview, and directed the curious students to Draco, who was more than happy to once again take on the role of being a spokesperson.  However, Draco could not help but inject his own opinions on the matters, speaking of Harry’s relatives (and all muggles) with contempt.  

 

The article itself was quite dramatic.  Though all the questions and answers had been planned beforehand, and very little commentary was added, it still managed to paint a very stark picture of a magical child suffering at the hands of muggles.  A picture of Harry had been included, but instead of Harry’s usual cheeky smile, he looked shy and hesitant. It was a picture meant to pull at the heartstrings of all parents.

 

And yet, the article did more than that.    After all, it was about the Boy Who Lived, and the writer of the article had subtly suggested that if even the famous Boy Who Lived was vulnerable at the hands of muggles then wasn’t everyone else?  It had been clever, to choose a writer who had a reasonable sounding ‘voice’ rather than one of hysteria.  Though the trio didn’t know it (though Draco might have had a clue), the article was meant to push the public into a mindset of uncertainty, and make them question the (implied) dangers of muggles to all witches and wizards.  And of course, the public was outraged to learn what their beloved Harry Potter had suffered.

 

Draco may have been able to divert the students’ attention away from Harry and towards himself, but there was little that he could do about the influx of letters that Harry was inundated with.  There was an outpouring of support, as well as numerous rather creepy letters (including one witch who offered Harry ten thousand galleons if he would allow himself to be adopted and change his name to reflect that of her dead husband.)  

 

All of Slytherin house seemed to have banded together in support of Harry, determined to protect one of their own snakes.  To Draco’s frustration, Parkinson became very clingy towards Harry, as though her grappling paws could somehow stave off further danger to her beloved friend.  Harry was accustomed to Parkinson’s brand of tactile cosseting, but even he found it a bit overbearing when she wouldn’t stop cooing over him, like some overbearing mother dove.  Surprisingly, even Hermione showed a protective side of herself, expressing deep indignation over what Harry had suffered.  The trio of Slytherins might have thought that the muggleborn Hermione would be biased in support of muggles, so it was a relief to learn that she stood on the side of her friends.

 

After the article in the  _ Prophet _ had been published, Harry was surprised to receive a note from Professor Dumbledore, asking the black-haired boy to meet in his office.  The trio puzzled over the note received at the breakfast table, wondering what the headmaster could possibly want.

 

 “Do you think he found out about the prank?” Draco asked with concern.

 

Harry bit his lower lip, uncertain.  “I hope not.”

 

 “It might be something to do with the  _ Prophet  _ interview,” Callidus suggested.  “Maybe he’s found someplace new for you to live.”  Callidus thought back to one of his earlier discussions with Dumbledore.  The man had mentioned something about blood protections.  But surely, there were other options for Harry - after discovering how bad Harry’s situation had been, Callidus couldn’t imagine that Dumbledore would think it was a good idea to have to go back to the Dursleys.

 

 “Do you think so?” Harry looked hopeful.

 

Draco looked up at the Head Table, doubt evident on his face.  “It’d be the first thing he’s ever done right.”

 

 “Where do you think I’d live?  Do you think he’d let me stay at the school over the summers?” Harry wondered.

 

 “He allowed me to stay at the school last summer,” Callidus replied.  “But I was the only student there.  I don’t think they usually permit it.  But maybe Dumbledore would make an exception for us.”

 

 “You could stay at the manor,” Draco suggested.  “Both of you!  I can write my father and ask.”

 

 “No!” Harry and Callidus exclaimed.

 

 “I mean - er no thanks,” Harry corrected. 

 

 “It wouldn’t be right to impose,” Callidus added.  

 

Draco gave the pair of them a questioning look, but decided to let the matter go.  It wasn’t until the end of the day that the boys found out why the headmaster wanted to speak to Harry.  Since Harry had never had a reason to see the headmaster before, Callidus and Draco walked up up to the gargoyle that guarded Dumbledore’s office, and waited outside as Harry went in.

 

 “Will you be staying at Hogwarts again this summer?” Draco asked.

 

 “I’m not sure.  I haven’t given much thought to what I’ll be doing over the summer.”  Callidus had been too preoccupied with other matters, but now that he considered it, he realized that he had no idea.  He had simply assumed that he would be permitted to stay at Hogwarts over the summer.

 

 “If Dumbledore lets you stay, then I’m sure he’d let Harry stay.”

 

Callidus pursed his lips.  He couldn’t see why Dumbledore wouldn’t let him stay over the summer again.  But he had never received confirmation about the whole matter, and now he found he had something new to worry about.  When Harry finally came back down the stairs, both boys gave him an inquiring look.

 

 “So?” Draco asked.  

 

Harry certainly didn’t look happy.  Rather, his eyebrows were knit, and he appeared to be troubled.  “Dumbledore wanted to know about the article.  He also wanted to know about what we did over Easter break.  He said he was saddened by my situation -”

 

 “But?”

 

 “But there are important reasons why I need to stay with the Dursleys.  Supposedly.  He claimed that it’s my choice in the end, but he - er - strongly suggested that I choose the Dursleys.”

 

 “Blood protections,” Callidus murmured.

 

Harry looked towards him.  “Yeah.  How did you know?”

 

 “Dumbledore told me about them a while ago.”

 

Before Harry could question the statement, Draco cut in.  “What do you need blood protections for anyway?  Magic like that is really powerful.”

 

 “He says that because of that whole thing with Voldemort -” the name caused Draco to blanche, so Harry corrected, “er - You-Know-Who, that his followers might come after me.  According to him, the blood protections prevent them from coming near me.”

 

 “But that was ages ago!” Draco pointed out.  “Sounds like he’s just making excuses.”

 

 “He wants you to stay with the muggles?” Callidus queried.

 

Harry’s frowned and nodded.  “He thinks it would be best.”

 

 “He can’t make you do that!” Draco asserted.  “And he said it was your choice, did he not?  Come stay with me at the manor instead.  We have some of the best protective enchantments in all of Britain.  No one could hurt you there.”

 

Harry hummed as he considered the idea.  He hadn’t wanted to live at Malfoy manor, but it as uncomfortable as he was there, it sounded better than returning to the Dursleys.  

 

 “It’ll be great!” Draco continued, enthused by the idea.  “We could fly all summer and play Quidditch.  With the practice, we’d definitely get on the team next term.  And there’s lots to do on the grounds over the summer.  I can show you all my hideouts.  Father might even let us fly the Aethonans.”  The aethonans were a breed of winged horse that only the richest families like the Malfoys could afford to keep.  Draco had shown Callidus and Harry the stables over the Easter break, but none of them had been permitted to fly the aethonans.  

 

 “Maybe,” Harry said noncommittally.  He still wanted to give the matter more thought.  As horrible as it was at the Dursleys, at least he knew what to expect.  Being in Slytherin meant that he had a good idea of where most families stood politically.  As such, he knew that the Malfoys had aligned themselves with Voldemort in the last war (even though Lucius Malfoy had evaded Azkaban by claiming that his actions were controlled under the  _ Imperius _ curse.)  Yet, if Dumbledore was right, then people like the Malfoys were a danger to Harry.  But then, how could that explain the fact that there had been attempts on his life while at school while there had been no attempts on his life while at Malfoy manor?

 

 “I know we’ve been focused on the idea that the person trying to hurt me and Cal is a teacher.  But - what if it’s one of Volde - er - You-Know-Who’s followers?” Harry mused.

 

 “I thought we ruled that out because Dumbledore said they couldn’t get past the protective enchantments around Hogwarts,” Callidus reminded him.  However, Harry’s idea had merit.  Callidus had become so fixated on the idea of either a student or teacher wanting to hurt his adult self.  Yet, hadn’t Dumbledore mentioned that Callidus’s adult self had tried to help Lily regarding some sort of prophecy?  It seemed so foolish that he had lost sight of that issue, but maybe their enemy had been one of Voldemort’s Death Eaters all along.

 

 “Dumbledore could be wrong,” Draco replied scornfully.  “He probably is wrong.  What does he know about anything?”

 

 “Now that I consider it, it makes sense,” Callidus reflected, glancing towards Harry.  “Everything I’ve read suggests that Hogwarts protections are powerful, but the fact that Dumbledore is concerned enough to want to send you back to those muggles suggests that there is a serious threat out there.  That and Dumbledore once mentioned that he doesn’t think Voldemort is actually dead.”

 

 “He what?!” Draco exclaimed.  “What are you talking about?  You-Know-Who hasn’t been seen since the day that he - er - anyway, how can he possibly still be alive?”  The idea of the Dark Lord being alive seemed rather farfetched to Draco.  If he was still alive, surely his father would have hinted at it, and yet, Lucius Malfoy was certain that the Dark Lord had been vanquished.

 

 “Why didn’t you tell us this before?” Draco demanded.

 

 “It hadn’t really come up,” Callidus defended.  In truth, Voldemort was a rather sensitive topic - especially since he had killed Harry’s parents and tried to kill Harry.  But it surprised him that Draco was so certain that Voldemort was dead, and Callidus wondered if he had just revealed something that he shouldn’t have.

 

 “But that’s just Dumbledore’s opinion,” Callidus added. 

 

Draco narrowed his eyes.  “My father always said that Dumbledore can’t be trusted.  He must have some sort of agenda then.”

 

 “You think he has an agenda?” Harry asked, worried.

 

 “Of course!” Draco declared.  “My father says that Dumbledore has his fingers in everything.  Not just Hogwarts but the Ministry of Magic and the Wizengamot too.  It sounds to me as though Dumbledore has some sort of plan for you.  Now that I think about it, I wouldn’t be surprised if he has plans to use you.”

 

 “Use me for what?” Harry questioned, not liking the idea.

 

 “Dumbledore has always been a muggle-lover.  He probably intends to take advantage of your celebrity to push forward his own ideals.”

 

 “How does it make sense for him to push some sort of muggle-loving agenda if he’s trying to force Harry to stay with muggles that he hates?” Callidus retorted.  “Though aside from that, I think you have a point, Draco.”  However, Callidus didn’t mention that he believed that Lucius Malfoy had the same goals for Harry - some sort of unspoken plan to use him as a tool.

 

 “I don’t want to be anyone’s pawn,” Harry said darkly.

 

 “What else has Dumbledore told you that you’ve never told us?” Draco asked Callidus.

 

 “Not much,” Callidus replied, having no desire to give away all his cards.  Just because he felt betrayed and distrustful of Dumbledore, it didn’t mean that he felt comfortable with telling Draco everything he knew.  Yes, they were brothers now, but Draco also had a tendency to tell far too much to Lucius Malfoy.

 

 “He mostly just wants to know how I’ve adjusted, and about the measures he’s taken to protect me and Harry,” Callidus added.

 

 “Hmm.  Well he isn’t doing a very good job, is he?” Draco derided.

 

 “No, he isn’t,” Callidus agreed.

 

 “So now what?” Harry pondered.  “Does this mean we have to start suspecting Voldemort’s followers?  The - what was it - Death Eaters?  Wait - what if one of the teachers is a Death Eater?”

 

 “There’s no way Dumbledore would have hired a Death Eater,” Callidus objected.

 

 “He might not have known though.  If a teacher was a Death Eater, that could explain how they got past the protective enchantments.”

 

In the end, the trio only had hypotheses, but they had come no closer to finding any answers or solutions.  However, Dumbledore’s insistence that Harry should stay with his hated muggle relatives only served to drive a wedge between the trio and the headmaster, and they trusted him less than ever.

 

The gossip about Harry’s situation eventually died down, and thanks to Draco’s eagerness to discuss the matter with anyone who would listen, Harry managed to avoid having to confront most of his peers.  However, even though the students were no longer discussing Harry with rapt fascination, the issue of muggle abuse was on everyone’s mind.  Following Harry’s interview, several other witches and wizards came forward with their own stories about their own painful past hurts at the hands of muggles.  Harry’s interview had managed to snowball and create a climate of greater mistrust and aversion towards muggles.

 

The trio were in the library several days later, discussing the matter with Hermione in whispered tones to avoid Madam Pince’s censure.  The recent articles had created highly inflamed tempers, and it seemed as though everyone had strong opinions on the matter, not just in Hogwarts but throughout the country.  Even more worrying was the way some people had acted based on this new information.

 

 “What your relatives did was wrong, of course,” Hermione was saying to Harry, “but it would be just as wrong to paint all muggles with the same broad brushstrokes.”

 

 “I know that just because my relatives were bad, it doesn’t mean that all muggles are the same,” Harry defended.

 

 “Muggles have a history of brutish behaviour towards witches and wizards,” Draco pointed out.  “They can’t be trusted.”

 

 “I’m not claiming that we need to trust muggles,” Hermione reasoned. “I understand the importance of maintaining secrecy.  But you must realize that all this antagonism is just as dangerous.  The last wizarding war wasn’t so long ago, and much of it was fueled by hatred towards muggles and muggleborns by association.”

 

 “I know all about the last wizarding war,” Draco hissed.  He might like Hermione when she was eager and attentive to learn about the wizarding world, but it annoyed Draco when she became argumentative - especially what he perceived as her foolish defence of muggles.  As far as Draco was concerned, she should have disassociated with the muggles as soon as she discovered she was a witch.

 

 “It’s important that the wizarding world learns about this kind of abuse,” Callidus argued.  “We’re talking about the abuse of children at the hands of adult muggles.”  Callidus’s lips twisted downwards as he considered his own unhappy past.

 

 “I’m not defending abuse,” Hermione countered.  “But surely you see that it’s gone past that.  Of course abuse of any sort is terrible.  But the issue has gone beyond just the abuse of children.  Have you read the recent articles in the  _ Prophet _ ?  It’s reached the point of fear-mongering.  And worse, people are starting to act out their aggression and fears, like the case of that muggle near Tinsworth that we read about this morning.”

 

The case Hermione was referencing had just been reported in the  _ Prophet _ .  One of the witches who came forward about her own abuse had been raised by muggles in Tinsworth which was a half-wizarding community.  The abuse that the witch had suffered had been especially brutal, but somehow, her muggle parents had gotten away with it for years because of how well they covered up their sick behaviour.  When the story was released, the witches muggle parents were found dead, lynched by the local wizards, though the culprits had not yet been found.

 

 “Those muggles deserved what they got,” Draco said hotly.

 

 “Those muggles should have been brought to justice before a court of law.  Not killed by an angry mob,” Hermione asserted.  “Of course what those muggles did was wrong, but they still deserved to have a fair trial.  You can’t just take justice into your own hands.  Actions like that will just lead to greater mistrust, and it won’t solve any problems in the long run.”

 

 “Even if those muggles had been charged before a court of law, that wouldn’t have changed the fact that that witch suffered what she did,” Callidus maintained.  Personally, he thought that he wouldn’t complain if Tobias Snape had been lynched by wizards.  The man had treated him and his mother monstrously.

 

 “No, but if people just start taking justice into their own hands, then you run the risk of innocent people suffering.  I can’t imagine that it would just stop at muggles.  How long before people start targeting muggleborns?  What if someone were to hurt me?”

 

This managed to effectively silence the trio.  As much as they might have wanted to argue that Hermione was taking the argument too far, the fact was that the last wizarding war only proved the truth of her words.  Not only muggles, but muggleborns had been targeted, and the trio liked Hermione enough that none of them wanted to see her hurt.

 

 “What do you suggest then?” Harry asked.

 

 “Well, we need to change public perception,” Hermione explained.  “Abuse is terrible, but I’m sure that it isn’t just limited to muggles.  I imagine that there must be witches and wizard that are abusive to their own children.  We need to see these people as individuals and not lump them into one big group.”

 

 “Magical children are cherished,” Draco disputed.  “No witch or wizard would ever harm their own child.”

 

 “Just because your own upbringing was ideal, that doesn’t make it true for everyone else,” Hermione responded. 

 

Draco crossed his arms and scowled.  “I’ve never heard of a case where a magical child was abused by their parents.”

 

 “Doesn’t mean that it doesn’t exist.”

  
In the end, Hermione and Draco weren’t able to come to any sort of agreement.  Though they still spent time in each other’s company, they had fallen into an awkward sort of icy silence, each acting as though the other person did not exist.  It wasn’t quite so bad while they were all together in the library, but it was uncomfortable when they came together to practice the runic magic suppression field.  Whenever Hermione wanted to correct Draco’s mistakes, she had to speak through either Callidus or Harry, but they all felt that learning the runic pattern was important enough that they still worked together.


	35. Chapter 35

In late April, Harry received an invite from Hagrid to come by sometime for tea and a chat.  Hagrid had been deeply upset when he read the  _ Prophet _ article about Harry’s abuse, and while Harry tried to assure the half-giant that they were making progress towards dealing with the issue, the half-giant still wished for a nice visit, if only to catch up on what the trio was doing.  They had invited Hermione to come along, but she had refused to be pulled away from her books and notes this close to exams (which made Callidus feel a mixture of irritation and anxiety as he wondered if he too ought to be burying himself in his school work.)

 

 “It feels like it’s been a while, hasn’t it?” Harry remarked as the trio trekked towards Hagrid’s hut.

 

 “Being slobbered on by a hound and being subjected to rock cakes are perfectly good reasons to  _ not _ visit,” Draco replied with a pout.

 

 “Hagrid is a perfectly good host,” Harry retorted. 

 

When they made their way to the gamekeeper’s hut, they were surprised to see the curtains closed.

 

 “Do you think he’s in?” Harry asked.  “He didn’t specify a date or time to visit in his note.”

 

 “What else would he be doing?” Draco drawled, a touch of condescension in his voice.

 

Harry shrugged, ignoring Draco’s tone, and knocked on the door.

 

 “Who is it?”  Hagrid called out.  When they told him, he opened the door.

 

 “I wasn’t expecting yeh today,” Hagrid confessed.

 

 “Should we come by another day?” Callidus asked, wondering if they were intruding.  Hagrid almost acted as though he were hiding something.

 

 “No, no, come in,” the half-giant insisted, ushering the trio into the hut, which was suffocatingly hot, despite the warm day.

 

 “How’ve yeh bin, Harry?” Hagrid asked, as he made them tea and sandwiches.  “I should’ve known when I met those muggle relatives of yers that they’d be the worst sort.  I’m sorry I didn’ see it sooner.”  

 

 “It’s not your fault, Hagrid,” Harry reassured Hagrid.  “You couldn’t have known.”

 

 “Why is it so hot in here?” Draco complained, glaring at the roaring fire in the grate.  “Can’t you open a window or something?”

 

 “Can’t Draco, sorry,” Hagrid apologized, glancing towards the fire.  This caused all three of them to look in the direction of his gaze, and their eyes fell upon a huge, black egg-shaped object in the heart of the fire.

 

Harry looked from the fire back to the half-giant.  “Hagrid - what’s that?” 

 

Callidus edged closer to the heat.  “It looks like a dragon egg.”

 

 “I think it is!” Draco confirmed excitedly, peering from the egg to Hagrid.  “Is it?”

 

Hagrid fiddled nervously with his beard.  “Er -”

 

 “I’ve always wanted a dragon!” Draco gushed, eyes alight with enthusiasm.  “My grandfather used to have a Hebridean Black - named it Atrox - but it died before I was born.  I tried to bully my father into getting me a dragon - even a Common Welsh Green would do, but he always refused.  I don’t think he cared for my grandfather’s dragon, but he would never tell me why.”

 

Hagrid beamed.  “A Hebridean Black, eh?  Beautiful creatures, those.  What I’ve got there’s a Norwegian Ridgeback.  They’re rare, them.”

 

Callidus looked at the pair of them in disbelief.  “Hagrid - are you sure it’s a good idea for you to keep a dragon?  Might I point out that your house is made of wood?”

 

But Hagrid paid him no heed.  Instead, Hagrid and Draco fell into a long discussion about the various breeds of dragons, while Draco scratched a very contented looking Fang.  Callidus and Harry shared a look of concern, but it was clear that there was no dissuading Hagrid, and Draco’s excitement for the whole idea only made it worse.

 

They learned that the dragon egg was set to hatch any day, and it was all that Draco could talk about.

 

 “Just think!  Having a dragon here at Hogwarts!  It’s almost as good as having my own dragon,” Draco enthused.  They were back in the Owlery since Harry wanted to visit Hedwig, but none of quite dared to sit on the window sills, opting to stay near the walls instead.

 

 “I’m pretty sure that what Hagrid’s doing is illegal,” Callidus pointed out.

 

Callidus’s statement wiped the smile from Draco’s face.  “Not if I have anything to say about it.”

 

 “What are you going to do?” Harry asked, as he petted a content-looking Hedwig.

 

 “I’ll write my father,” Draco declared.

 

Callidus rolled his eyes.  “Why am I not surprised.”

 

 “I thought dragons breathed fire and all that stuff.  How is it going to be safe to keep a dragon here?” Harry pondered.

 

 “Oh, there’s alway ways.  My grandfather had a specially built enclosure for his dragon, magically fireproofed.  He used to have to feed it whole cows, and had special drinking fountain containing liquor for the dragon to drink from.  Though enclosures are never perfect of course.  My father said that my grandfather received some rather nasty scars from the dragon.  And as much as scars might be seen as a mar on one’s skin, I think that dragon related scars are rather dashing.”

 

 “You would, wouldn’t you,” Callidus remarked, unsurprised by Draco’s vanity.  “I can’t help thinking that more danger is the last thing that Hogwarts needs.”

 

Draco scoffed.  “It’s not the dragon’s fault that someone is trying to kill you.”

 

 “No, I suppose a dragon might just prefer to indiscriminately kill anyone, rather than limiting it to myself.  Where do you suppose Hagrid got that dragon egg anyway?”

 

 “There are people who deal in the procurement of rare animals,” Draco answered briskly.

 

 “Yes, people with connections like your father, or people with a great deal of galleons to spend.  Somehow, I doubt Hagrid is one of those people.”

 

 “Dragon eggs are difficult to come by?” Harry cut in.

 

Callidus nodded.  “And as I said, it seems like what Hagrid’s doing is illegal.  Not that following laws to the letter is something that I personally feel the need to strictly subscribe to, but it’s the sort of thing that’s bound to make trouble for Hagrid.”

 

 “It won’t matter anyway.” Draco crossed his arms stubbornly.  “My father will take care of all of those details.  He knows a lot of people in the Ministry.”

 

 “Is it possible to ride a dragon?” Harry questioned.  The topic caused Draco to brighten even more than before, so that they had to endure yet more ramblings about dragons from Draco.  Callidus had to resign himself to the fact that it would likely be all that he would hear about in the next few days.

 

Draco did indeed end up writing his father, and after much pleading and cajoling, he won over his father to his side.  Perhaps it was just having to listen to Draco whinge about dragons his whole life, and the benefit of not having to deal with the dragon on his own grounds, but eventually Lucius Malfoy was persuaded.  

 

A few days later, the trio received a note from Hagrid that simply said: ‘it’s hatching.’  They had considered skipping History of Magic, but since it was drawing closer to exams, none of them dared to slip up on their grades.  All of them fidgeted restlessly as Binns droned on and on about the uprising of Elfric the Eager and when the bell sounded for the end of their lessons, they dashed off towards Hagrid’s hut.  Rather than dragging his feet, it was Draco who led the way, walking as fast as his legs could take him, chatting the whole way.

 

When Hagrid answered the door, his eyes were alight with excitement, and his face was flushed.

 

 “It’s nearly out,” he informed them, as he led them into the hut where the egg sat upon the table, covered in long and deep cracks.  They could hear movement from within the egg and an odd clicking sound.  They each pulled up a chair, and sat around the table.

 

 “How much longer?” Draco asked impatiently.

 

Hagrid grinned.  “Soon.”

 

 “I’ve told my father all about it,” Draco announced, causing Hagrid to falter and blink with worry.

 

 “He says that he’ll make sure that it’s registered with the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures.”  Draco paid no heed to Hagrid but instead, was watching the egg.  “There’ll be some dragon handlers and other specialists who’ll come by to plan and build a proper enclosure for the dragon.  Can’t have it living in here, you know - too small and all.  I told my father that it would provide an excellent educational opportunity, and enhance the prestige of Hogwarts.  Most other magical schools can’t even contemplate, let alone provide care for a dragon - though rumour has it that they have one at Durmstrang.”

 

Draco was cut off by a noise from the egg, as it split open.  The four of them leaned forward as the black baby dragon emerged from the broken pieces, looking like a crumpled umbrella with stubby horns and orange eyes.  Its wings were disproportionately large compared to its body, which was quite skinny.

 

Hagrid melted at the sight.  “Isn’t he beautiful?”  He reached out to pet it, causing the small creature to snap and bear its little pointed fangs.  “Bless him, look!  He knows his mummy!”

 

 “He’s smaller than I thought,” Draco noted.  “How long do you think it’ll take for him to grow?”

 

 “Did you say that they’re going to build a dragon enclosure here?” Harry asked.

 

Draco nodded.  “Probably near the forest.  There’s plenty of space.  Can’t have a dragon running loose - it’d terrify the muggles - not that that’s a bad thing, except for the need for secrecy, of course.”

 

Callidus looked towards Hagrid, who was still looking at the baby dragon with a melty expression.  “Hagrid, what would you have done if Draco hadn’t written his father?  Where would you have kept the dragon?”

 

Hagrid looked at Callidus guiltily.  “Er - I would’ve figured somethin’ out.”

 

The following day, a group of dragon handlers and other specialists arrived at the school with their documents and tools on hand to plan an enclosure for the dragon.  Word had quickly spread, and even if Dumbledore had wanted to protest, there was nothing that he could do about it.  With his power and influence, Lucius Malfoy had convinced the Board of Governors that having the dragon would only benefit the student’s education (and his large ‘donation’ probably helped as well - he would be funding most of the cost of the dragon enclosure, and the protective enchantments that would prevent the creature from hurting students and muggles alike.)

 

Hagrid had been pleased at first, but as the workers claimed a large area of the forest in which to house the dragon, his happiness was marred.

 

 “What’s wrong, Hagrid?” Callidus asked.  “You look upset.  Is it the dragon?”

 

The trio visited the hut a week later, and at this point, the dragon had grown three times in length.  Without the aid of the dragon handlers, he would have been run ragged, and likely would have neglected his gamekeeper duties.  Fortunately, the dragon handlers were there so that the task of feeding the dragon buckets of brandy and mixed with chicken blood every half-hour could be taken care of in shifts.

 

 “No, no,” Hagrid replied.  “It’s not Norbert.”  Norbert was what he had decided to call the creature.  “In fact, Norbert really knows it’s me now, watch.  Norbert!  Norbert!  Where’s mummy?”

 

 “If it’s not the dragon, then what is it?”

 

 “It’s jus’ - well, I’m happy to have Norbert, but the construction of Norbert’s enclosure is upsettin’ the other creatures in the forest.  The unicorns are migratin’ away, the acromantulas are nervous, and the centaurs are furious.”

 

 “I didn’t know there were unicorns and centaurs and - er - those other things in the forest,” Harry commented.

 

 “Soon there won’t be,” Hagrid intoned mournfully.  “Well, not anywhere near here, tha’ is.”

 

 “The forest is quite vast,” Callidus pointed out.  “There’s plenty of space for all the creatures.”

  
Hagrid did not appear to be reassured by Callidus’s words.  He would have preferred to have all the creatures close to him, rather than far away, however, by choosing to take on a dragon, Hagrid had unwittingly made some sacrifices.  Callidus thought it was unfortunate.  He had never seen a unicorn before, and though it was considered a bit girlish, he still would have liked to see one.  As for the centaurs, they were known for being territorial creatures, and it was no surprise that they would be angered by the intrusion of a dragon invading their home.  Nonetheless, it was still exciting to know that Hogwarts now had its very own dragon.


	36. Chapter 36

As April crept into May, Callidus finally completed the poison countermeasure potion, after tweaking the recipe for the past couple of weeks.  He was also near to completing the prank potion.  A dose of the poison countermeasure potion was handed over to the sixth year who commissioned it, and now, Callidus had to patent his creation so that it could be tested and sold.  He had personally taken a dose himself, and just because Harry and Draco happened to be his brothers, he gave them a free dose as well.  After all, he’d hate to ever lose either of them to poison, and seeing as they were both rich and well-known (or in Draco’s case, it was the Malfoy name that was well known), they likely needed the potion more than he did.

 

Callidus continued to make potions for the Slytherins, enjoying his source of income, but he opted against starting any major potions projects.  He needed to study for the upcoming final exams after all.  With the way that Hermione was obsessing about them, it would difficult to surpass or even match her unless he put in a similar degree of effort.  Wystan seemed to be in an even more frazzled state - the older boy had to study for his N.E.W.T.s - however, he did still come by Callidus’s lab, sometimes with Calypso and sometimes without.  Seeing the way that Wystan looked at Calypso, Callidus couldn’t help but think that there was a good chance that Wystan would propose to her after they graduated.  He found that he liked them as a pair.

 

Callidus also received his usual note to meet Dumbledore in his office.  He wasn’t looking forward to it.  Dumbledore had seemed like an older confidant for so long, and now Callidus had no desire to tell the older man anything.  On some level, he knew that the headmaster was hurt by this.  He must have had a close relationship with Callidus’s former self.  However Callidus didn’t feel like he knew who Severus was.  Perhaps Severus and Dumbledore had experienced events that had brought them close, but it wasn’t quite the same with Callidus.  On some level, that childlike vulnerable part of himself wanted Dumbledore to be on his side - to be like the father, or grandfather that he never had.  It felt like a betrayal, both that Dumbledore failed to protect him, as well as going against his interests by not publishing his discovery.

 

Thus, when Callidus climbed up the steps to Dumbledore’s office, he kept his face neutral and guarded, not wanting to reveal anything.  He also kept his mind as blank as possible - the books on meditative techniques provided the groundwork for Occlumency, but did not actually teach Occlumency itself.  Still, it was the best he had.

 

 “How are you this evening, Callidus?” Dumbledore asked as Callidus strode up to his desk.

 

 “Busy,” Callidus answered.  He kept his gaze focused on the wall behind the headmaster, but he was still aware of Dumbledore’s searching gaze.

 

 “How was your Easter break?”

 

From the corner of his eye, Callidus considered the headmaster.  It was hard to read anything from Dumbledore’s face, and since Callidus had never revealed that he planned to spend the break at Malfoy manor, he was unsure of what Dumbledore thought about the whole matter.  He knew that Dumbledore had objected to Callidus and Harry visiting over the winter break, but for the most part, that had been a matter of safety (and nothing had actually harmed them.)  Dumbledore and Lucius Malfoy’s personal beliefs were probably in complete opposition.  Was Dumbledore disappointed by Callidus’s actions?

 

 “It was good,” Callidus admitted.  “They have an extensive library and I learned some interesting things.  The Malfoys and Princes have intermarried numerous times in the past.”  Callidus wasn’t about to admit that he also spent some time reading about Dark magic (even if it was only borderline Dark.)

 

 “Did you know about Harry’s past?”

 

It took an effort for Callidus not to wince.  The conversation felt so awkward and uncomfortable.  “Not all of it.  What about you?  Did you know about Harry’s past?”  The question was almost an accusation.

 

Dumbledore’s expression was sad.  “No, my boy.  I had hoped that as blood relatives, they would at least show a modicum of care and concern.  But the fact was that Harry’s life was too important, and it was one of the safest places that he could be.”

 

 “What about Hogwarts?”  Callidus demanded.  “Isn’t Hogwarts just as safe?  Why can’t Harry stay here?  You let me stay here last summer.”

 

Dumbledore hummed thoughtfully.  “Students typically aren’t permitted to stay over the summer.  There isn’t always faculty here.”

 

 “You know about the brotherhood ritual that we did.  You admitted that you saw us when we found the Mirror of Erised.  That means that you’re aware that we could always go live with the Malfoys, right?”

 

 “I’m aware.  To have two more innocent lives at Lucius’s hands would be a great danger.  He has already struck a great blow against muggles and muggleborns.”

 

Callidus narrowed his eyes.  “He is also trying to help Harry.”

 

 “At a price.”

 

 “Yes, at a price,” Callidus echoed.

 

 “I may have been a Gryffindor, but even I know that one should be wary of arrangements where one does not know what the other party stands to gain by it.  He may appear to be helping Harry now only to hurt him later.  You may be losing more than you know.”

 

Callidus frowned.  The headmaster was right; neither he nor Harry knew what Lucius Malfoy’s ultimate goal was, and it was troubling.  He sighed.  “I don’t want to be caught up in this - not yet.  I know I’ve lived a whole other life where I’ve already made my choices, but right now, I’m still only twelve.”

 

 “We don’t always get to chose what life tosses our way, nor when events will happen to us, my boy,” Dumbledore said gently.

 

 “I know.  You should be aware though that if you press Harry to stay with those muggles, you might be pushing him straight towards the Malfoys.”  As much as Callidus wasn’t on Dumbledore’s side, he wasn’t on the Malfoy’s side either, and didn’t want Harry to be pressured towards that choice.

 

Dumbledore gave a slight nod.  “Harry’s life is important to me.  But so too is his happiness and well-being.”

 

 “I’m glad to hear it then.  Harry isn’t just a tool to be used and discarded.”

 

Dumbledore seemed to examine Callidus, and answered with a mysterious and knowing smile.

 

 “Was there anything else you wanted from me?” Callidus asked.

 

Once again, he received another knowing look.  It made Callidus want to shuffle uneasily, as he wondered just how much the headmaster knew.  Did he know about the prank?  Or how he was selling potions to the Slytherins on the side?  However, Dumbledore said nothing, and instead, dismissed him with yet another mysterious smile.

 

Beltane fell on the first of May, and while the trio did not have anything planned, they entered the Slytherin common room to find it festively decorated with rowan, primrose, hawthorn and hazel, as well as colourful ribbons and wreaths.  Beltane fell on a Friday, and most of the students were excited - there was to be a bonfire planned that evening out by the lake, with dancing and music and food.

 

The elder Slytherins were more excited about the holiday than the younger students - Beltane celebrated life after all and it was a special time for couples.  The trio couldn’t help but scrunch up their faces in disgust, watching the older Slytherins making calf-eyes at one another.  But even students who weren’t paired together were caught up in the spirit of gaiety.  It was a time to let loose and free, and no excuse was ever needed for a good party.

 

 “Will there be a Maypole?” Callidus asked Draco, who knew the most about the traditional holidays.

 

 “Maypole?”  Draco’s expression was puzzled.  “Oh, do you mean the May Tree?  Are Maypoles a muggle thing?”

 

 “What’s the May Tree?”  Harry wondered.

 

 “I don’t know if they do it here, but we have a May Tree every Beltane at the manor.  It involves a ritual that changes an ordinary tree into a blessed May Tree.  The May Tree looks a bit like a weeping willow, but its strands come in a multitude of colour.  There’s a special May Tree dance for lovers, where one person dances on the ground, and the other flies around on brooms, or if they’re magically adept enough, then self-levitation.  The leaves that fall from the branches are considered good luck, or they can be used in potions.  Interestingly, the leaves of different colours have different effects on potions.  For example, pink leaves are used in many healing potions, or blue leaves can aid with sleep related potions, while silver leaves are used in protective potions.”

 

 “Really?”  Harry and even Callidus were captivated by the image.

 

 “I hope they have a May Tree here,” Harry said wistfully.

 

To Harry’s (and Callidus’s) delight, there was in fact a May Tree, and the Slytherins were joined by students from other Houses, though Callidus noted that it was mostly purebloods who came.  Their upperclassmen were acting even more lovey dovey than ever, but there was enough to look at, and plenty of sweet festival breads to enjoy that the trio could overlook the numerous couples.

 

As dusk fell, a great bonfire was lit - a magical one, as most holiday fires were - and with magic spells (and daring) many of the students walked through the great, flickering flames, their faces bright with awe as they felt the the sweet hum of purifying magic on their skin.  The trio watched with interest, however none of them attempted to walk through the immense bonfire.  Draco had done so before, but it had been his parents who cast the protective spells on him, and he wasn’t comfortable enough with his own spell-casting to attempt it himself.  Though the trio stayed up later than usual, they still returned back to the dungeons earlier than many of the other students, who were languorously enjoying each other’s company as stars dotted the sky, intoxicated with the magical energy of spring and love.  Even if none of them had chosen to pass through the fire, they all felt a burst of aliveness bubbling within them as the magic of Beltane settled over their hearts.

 

The arrival of May also meant that almost all the students were in a panic of worrying and studying for exams.  Hermione seemed to have taken up permanent residence in the library, and unless the topic of conversation was school work or who might be trying to kill Harry and Callidus, she had no desire to speak.  Draco was starting to become tense and snappy - the rest of the school year had felt like fun and games, but now he was acutely aware that if he did not do well, he would be letting down his father.  Fortunately, Harry did not seem too stressed.  There was no one pressuring him to do well after all, which meant that he only had to meet his own expectations.  But with friends like Hermione, Callidus and Draco, Harry still wished to do well academically.

 

The Slytherins played against the Hufflepuffs, and it was fortunate that there was no mishaps because while Callidus should have been watching for danger, he ended up riveted by the Quidditch game.  Prior to the match, he had a received a number of orders from underaged Slytherins for a potion that broadly mimicked the effects of alcohol (with an added touch of euphoria and a milder hangover), which resulted in a rather tidy profit.  And because Slytherins ended up defeating the Hufflepuffs, the afterparty was particularly wild, with just as many students cheering for Callidus as they did for their Quidditch team.

 

The prank potion was finally finished, and the only question now was when the trio wanted to use it, and how they would apply it.  With their previous prank, it was effective regardless of where the potion touched one’s skin, but this potion worked best if it was handled with one’s hands.  Callidus had left that particular aspect of the prank up to Harry and Draco, but the pair of them still couldn’t agree who to use it on.  Draco was insistent that it should be used on the Gryffindors whereas Harry thought it light-hearted enough that it should be randomly applied (and besides, Hermione was Gryffindor, and she’d probably hex their limbs off if she was a casualty of their prank - or if not that, then they’d have to suffer a rather nasty lecture, and the last thing any of them wanted was another lecture.)  Draco also wanted to implement the pranks just before exams (as an added touch of malice.)  Harry adamantly refused, and said they should use it after exams were finished, as an amusing year-end send-off.

 

The trio had also finally mastered the runic magic suppression field.  They had even practiced using it against one another, and discovered that while one could not feel the field itself, it made the act of casting spells feel like thick clotted sludge was moving through their body and limbs, stymieing their magic.  However, being as young as they were, casting the field was incredibly exhausting.  They could, at best, do it once a day, and hold it for no more than ten minutes.  Whether or not it was enough, it was difficult to tell.  

 

There was also the question of whether or not to use to magic suppressing potion on the teachers.

 

 “We don’t know for certain whether or not the person attacking us is actually a teacher,” Harry argued.  The trio were in the Quad, enjoying the May sunshine.  Draco and Callidus sat upon one of the stone benches, while Harry was lying on his back upon the grass, following the movement of the fluffy clouds with his green eyes.

 

 “But why take the chance?  Besides, considering the number of attacks, you can’t trust them,” Draco argued.

 

 “What if they are trying to protect us?  Suppressing their magic would mean that they wouldn’t be able to,” Harry pointed out.

 

 “How would we administer it anyway?” Callidus asked.  “It’s not a potion that only requires touch.  They would be required to drink it.  It might be useful as a back-up, but with exams to study for, we hardly have time to plot the dosing of all the teachers.”

 

 “I don’t want to think about exams at the moment,” Draco grumbled.  “It’s too nice a day for that.  I don’t want to think about anything that might remind me of father.”

 

 “I never thought I’d see the day,” Callidus muttered.  Harry snorted with amusement.  

 

 “I’ll have you know that my father has been in a rather pleased frame of mind lately.”

 

Callidus rolled his eyes.  “Even when you don’t want to be reminded of your father, you still bring up your father.”

 

 “Shut up, Callidus.  You wouldn’t understand.  It’s actually related to that _Prophet_ article.”

 

 “Oh?”

 

 “Well, I don’t know all the details, but there was talk about some sort of proposed law that they were going to call the” (here Draco sneered) “Muggle Protection Act.  Of course, it has nothing to actually do with muggles.  My father says it was all a ploy to enable the Ministry to conduct searches of Pureblood homes.  Disgusting really, how low they would sink.”

 

 “Why do they want to search Pureblood homes?” Harry questioned.

 

 “Because the influence of muggle-lovers like Dumbledore mean that they fear the power that the Purebloods hold.”

 

Callidus peered at Draco.  He assumed that the ‘power’ that Draco was discussing was the Dark Arts, and perhaps the rare and expensive Dark Artifacts that pureblood families often owned.  He could see why the ministry would want to limit their power.

 

 “They fear the repeat of the wizarding war,” Callidus stated.

 

Draco’s lips twisted downwards.  “The ministry wants to limit the old Pureblood families, and at the same time, cater to muggleborns.”

 

 “Why can’t there just be equality?” Harry pondered.  “Or if not, some sort of system based on merit.  Purebloods like to think that they are better than everyone else, but I still haven’t figured out why or how they’ve come to that conclusion.”

 

 “It’s similar to the muggle notion of nobility,” Callidus answered.  “Wealth and power itself provide a substantial amount of advantages as well.  Even if we were to have a society that was based on merit, purebloods often have an advantage from having grown up in the wizarding world, and knowing all the nuances. Draco, what were you saying about the Muggle Protection Act?”

 

Draco looked over at Callidus.  “Oh, the bill has been rapidly losing support.  Did I mention that Weasley’s father wrote a large part of that act?”  Draco smirked.  “My father is certain that it will fail to pass.  In its place, he’s planning to propose the Magical Child Protection Act.  It will make it easier to rehome all magical children who suffer abuse - yes, even muggleborn ones.”

 

 “That sounds like a good thing,” Harry affirmed.  “No one should suffer at the hands of their abusers.  But what about what Hermione mentioned?  How witches and wizards might abuse their own children.”

 

Draco scoffed.  “I’ve never heard of such a thing.”  Of course, many pureblood families were also good at keeping their own secrets a secret.  Abuse was not a subject that would be openly spoken of.  

 

 “It’s still a step in the right direction,” Callidus added.  But at the same time, Dumbledore’s words echoed in his mind.  Lucius Malfoy was the one who was proposing the Magical Child Protection Act, so what was he hoping to gain?  He didn’t seem like the sort of person who did anything for altruistic reasons, but as far as Callidus was aware, the proposed legislation sounded like a good thing.  Nonetheless, he knew he had to pay more attention to the political landscape of Magical Britain.  It was what any Slytherin would do anyway.

 

With the impending exams, not only were the students looking frazzled and stressed, but the teachers were as well.  However, for some reason, Professor Quirrell looked worse off than most of the other professors.  His stutter was more pronounced than ever, so that not only Harry, but most of the other students got headaches trying to listen to him teach.  It was probably even worse for seventh years who had to worry about N.E.W.T.s, while dealing with a teacher who wasn’t at all helpful.

 

Professor McGonagall’s lectures only served to add pressure to the students, as she stressed the importance of academic performance.  Professor Binns and Professor Sprout treated the revision period with the same calmness as they would any other period the term.  Fortunately, Professor Flitwick made an effort to lighten the mood, putting together an impromptu skit using stuffed toy animals named after the students and speaking in their voices.  ‘Callidus’ was a dark green lizard, ‘Harry’ was a fluffy teddy bear and most amusing of all, ‘Draco’ was a dragon, but not just any dragon - he was a purple- and orange-spotted one with such an imperious attitude that it was like watching Draco himself.  If Draco exchanged his elegant style with garish flamboyance, that is.  Only Draco failed to be amused by it.

 

Callidus was on his way to the library, intent on joining Hermione for an intensive study session.  There was no sense studying potions - he knew the material better than the back of his hand.  But that still left six other subjects to study for, and there was no way he’d let Hermione surpass him in all of them.

 

As he entered the library and made his way to Hermione’s usual table, he was startled to see Greengrass sitting next to her, speaking to Hermione in hushed whispers.  Hermione looked frozen, her lips thinned, and her quill unmoving as she listened to whatever poison Greengrass was probably pouring into her ear.  Callidus had gotten accustomed to ignoring Greengrass - he had assumed that she would no longer pose a problem for him.  He had taken away the power she had over him, hadn’t he?

 

Greengrass has stopped whispering and pulled away.  At that moment, she looked in his direction and noticed him standing there.  Her lips pulled up into a malicious smile, looking as pleased as a politician who managed to pin their indiscretions on someone else.  He was tempted to wipe that smile off her face, with vicious force if necessary.  Greengrass stood up, and walked towards him (he stood in the direction of the exit after all.)

 

As she neared him, she stood up on her toes, and murmured in his ear: “Have fun with your filthy mudblood.”  Before he could reach out and strangle her, she was gone.

 

Callidus turned to look back at Hermione.  Her quill still remained unmoving in her hands, and her features were strained, as though she were in pain, but trying to hide it.  Swiftly, he strode over to her table and sat in the chair next to her.

 

 “What did Greengrass say to you?” he demanded.

 

Hermione glared at him.  She was attempting anger, but what came across instead was a wounded look.  “She said that you were using me.  She said that everyone in Slytherin knows about it - how you, Harry and Draco planned to use me.”

 

 “She said - oh!  Disregard it.  It isn’t true.”

 

 “No?”

 

 “No!  I mean, the rumour is true, but it’s just something we made up so that Draco wouldn’t get in trouble,” Callidus admitted.  He wasn’t sure if it was something he should reveal - it was more of Draco’s secret than his own, yet he didn’t want Hermione to think that their friendship was fake.

 

Hermione’s lips were pursed again, and she appeared to be considering his words.  It was maddening to be in this situation again.  They had been friends for a few months now - shouldn’t she trust him more than a treacherous snake like Greengrass?

 

 “Draco is in trouble for being friends with me?” Hermione asked.  Her brow wrinkled, and she looked down at the table.  “I suppose I shouldn’t be surprised, with all I’ve learned about wizarding culture.  And neither of us are speaking to each other at the moment.”

 

 “He’s not in trouble - not now.  But none of us are using you.”

 

 “If you were, you wouldn’t be the first,” she said, with a tinge of sadness.

 

Callidus narrowed his eyes.  “I’m not Lisa Tubbins-or-whatever-her-name-is.  Draco’s family happens to be very - traditional.”

 

 “Traditional, meaning prejudiced.”

 

Callidus couldn’t really disagree.  As much as he disliked muggles, he didn’t have anything against muggleborns.  “Anyway, the point is that you shouldn’t listen to anything Greengrass tells you.  She’s always disliked me.  If anyone is prejudiced, it’s her.”

 

Hermione glanced back towards the books on her table.  “It’s really not the best time to have to deal with this sort of thing,” she murmured, before lifting her face up towards Callidus.  “I do believe you though.  But -”  Hermione cut herself off, and worried her lower lip.

 

 “But what?”

 

 “I don’t think you’re using me, but I often get the sense that there is a lot you don’t tell me.  I’m not blind you know.”

 

Callidus could not deny the assertion.  But with many of the things he got up to with Harry and Draco, he had a feeling that Hermione would not condone their behaviour.  He couldn’t imagine her being accepting of their pranks, or his potions trade, or the way they snuck around with the Camouflage Potion.

 

 “You’re not obligated to tell me,” Hermione added, “But as friends, it would be nice to know.”

 

Now, Callidus just felt mildly guilty, and was reminded of just how much of a Gryffindor Hermione was.  Still, that didn’t mean that he wanted to spill all of his secrets to her.  It went counter to his instincts.

 

 “I’ll try but -”

 

Hermione narrowed her eyes.  “Are you breaking school rules?”  Upon seeing Callidus’s discomfort, she decided to back off.  She disapproved of rule breaking, but she didn’t want to lose her friends over it.  “Nevermind,” she said gently.  “As long as you’re not hurting anyone.”

  
Callidus replied with a weak smile.  Having little more to say about the matter, they fell back into their studying, determined to cram as much information into their minds as they possibly could.


	37. Chapter 37

The dreaded exam period was soon upon them, consisting of both a written and practical component.  Callidus had been a bundle of nerves beforehand, but once the exam questions were in front of him, a focused calm fell upon him, leaving him with a sense of certainty that he knew what he was doing.

 

Harry, Draco and Hermione all seemed exhausted, and Callidus noticed that Harry had been rubbing his scar.  Harry admitted that it had been bothering him quite a bit a few months ago, but some of the discomfort had eased off.  Nonetheless, it was strange that such an old scar could act up like that.

 

After their last exam, which was History of Magic, Hermione wanted to go over all their exam papers.  Callidus was eager to do so, but Harry and Draco were aghast at the very notion of it, and at the first opportunity, they slipped away to the Slytherin dungeons to plan the actual application of their prank.  Callidus and Hermione sat on a hard wooden bench underneath an ornate window as they compared the questions and answers they had given.  As confident as Callidus was that he had done well, what really matter to him was how he had performed in relation to Hermione.

 

 “I’m not sure if I made my snuffbox decorative enough,” Hermione fretted.  They had to change a mouse into a snuffbox in Transfigurations, and were scored by both the effectiveness of the Transfiguration as well as the prettiness of the final object.  “I should have added more vines and scrolls.”

 

 “I used a black mother of pearl underlay for mine, with silver snakes entwined throughout,” Callidus smirked.

 

Hermione tilted her head.  “Did you?  I used of mix of opal and moonstone.”

 

That quickly removed Callidus’s smirk.  He thought he had done quite well with the practical component of his Transfiguration exam, but he shouldn’t have been surprised that Hermione had probably done better.  They discussed Charms, Astronomy, Defence and Herbology as well.  Callidus assumed that Hermione had done better than him in History, while Hermione (as loathe as she was to admit it) assumed that he exceeded her in Potions.

 

At some point, Hermione excused herself to use the bathroom.  The thought of it reminded him of the prank that the trio would be putting into place as soon as possible.  Perhaps this evening - certainly before school let out.  Since the potion needed to be touched, the plan was that they would apply it on the faucets of the bathrooms around the school.  The plan was brilliant (even if Draco still grumbled that they should be targeting Gryffindors rather than random members of the school population.)

 

Idly, Callidus wondered if the Weasley twins had any plans for major pranks in mind.  He had not been paying too much attention to them, but he knew that they were causing Filch lose more than his fair share of hair (both figuratively and literally), as well as terrorizing their own siblings.  From the looks of it, the elder Weasley would soon be due for some sort of nervous breakdown, but he was considered by most to be a prat, so  it was hard to muster even a modicum of sympathy.  His thoughts did not go very far.  There was an odd shimmer at the corner of his eye, but as he turned his head, he felt a spell hitting him, causing his entire body to freeze in a very familiar way: it was  _ Petrificus Totalus _ , the Full Body-Bind curse.

 

Merlin’s teeth!  How could he have been so careless!  The one piece of advice from Dumbledore was to make certain that he remained with others at all times, and yet, here he was, not even considering the fact that he was sitting by himself in an empty corridor, while Hermione would be away for who knows how long.  The shimmer drew towards him, but it made no sound - somehow whoever it was had silenced their footsteps, and for a brief moment, Callidus thought: ‘I should look up that spell.  Sounds useful’ before it occurred to him that he was in a very bad situation.

 

Though his body was immobilized, his senses were not, and the beat of his heart seemed to take on a sprinting pace as he wondered what would become of him.  Was this the moment he finally died?  He felt hands grip his forearm, pulling him off his seat, and dragging him as though he were a piece of furniture.  The hands gripped him tightly, but they didn’t feel like big hands - whether it was a man or woman, the person almost felt delicate.

 

It was wretchedly uncomfortable, being magically frozen in a sitting position and then dragged.  Whoever was pulling at him quickly grew tired after dragging him several meters, and seemed to realize the utter stupidity of tugging him along where anyone might catch sight of him.  He felt a spell upon him, that felt like a raw egg had been cracked atop his head.  Then another spell, that had him levitating in the air.  His angle was awkward - he could not turn his head at all, so all he could see was the ceiling, but he sensed that he was pulled up a flight of stairs, and then another.  

 

They turned a corner, and although the place did not look familiar, Callidus had a very bad feeling about where he was being taken.  He hoped that me might be wrong, but he suspected that he was in the third-floor corridor that Dumbledore had said was out-of-bounds.  A door was opened, and he heard a sound of musical strings being plucked - a lute perhaps?  Or a harp?  And there too was the noisy sound of deep breathing, like a large creature was asleep.

 

 “Merlin!” the shimmery distortion hissed.  “I thought it’d be awake.”  The shimmer spoke in no more than a whisper, so that Callidus could not tell who it was from the voice.

 

 “No matter,” the shimmer muttered.  “No one will find you down there.  Goodbye, Snape.”

 

Then, forward motion again.  There was a creak, and then whatever spell that was used to levitate Callidus was removed, and he felt himself falling and dropping upon some sort of cool, but soft surface.  The rectangle of light above him disappeared as the whoever threw him down here shut what was likely some sort of trap door.  He was stuck, frozen by the body-bind, and worse - he was trapped in the dark.  At least the surface he was lying on was kind of comfortable, even if he couldn’t help thinking that it seemed to be moving.  Hopefully he wouldn’t be killed by his bedding - what a pathetic way to die that would be - but thus far, it wasn’t doing very much.

 

Once he was sure that he wasn’t about to immediately expire, his thoughts turned back to the person who had brought him here.  They had called him Snape!  Who could it be?  It didn’t seem like some of the other attacks that he and Harry had suffered, and why had they left Harry out?  Why hadn’t they finished the job?  Frozen as he was, he was completely at their mercy.  Maybe it wasn’t a Death Eater after all, but a teacher (or a very gifted student) with a grudge.  Ultimately, this new knowledge provided very little answers.

 

After an indeterminable wait that felt like an eternity (because there was absolutely nothing he could distract himself with when he was in a body-bind in the dark, and he had long ago grown tired of cursing his own stupidity, as well as cursing his captor, and in a particularly low moment, cursing Hermione for disappearing on him), he heard sounds from the trapdoor above him.  The trapdoor must have been thick because the sounds were very muffled and sounded very far away (though he thought he heard a growl).  Silently, he cried out for help.  Please let whoever was up there be looking for him!  It would be crushing for someone to be so close and yet so far away.

 

A sliver of light appeared, and the sound of a high, clear voice singing - was that Draco?  He had heard Harry try to sing once, and it wasn’t pretty.

 

 “Cal?”  Looking up, he could see Harry’s face peering down at him, looking worried and a bit afraid.  “Cal!  Why aren’t you - oh!   _ Finite Incantatem _ !”  The general counter-spell was another useful spell they had learned in the dueling club, and to Callidus’s great relief, he was now finally able to move, and he stood up, feeling stiff and achy.  Beneath him was a familiar looking plant, but it was hard to tell under this lighting.  When he shifted, its tendrils seem to shift towards him, but when he stopped moving, the vines loosened.

 

 “We have to get you out of there!” Harry exclaimed.  There was suddenly a growling noise, and Harry’s face disappeared.

 

 “Don’t stop singing, Draco!” Harry cried out, and Draco’s sweet melodic tune returned.  “Cal’s down there!  We should find a rope or something.”

 

Harry’s face reappeared.  “Hermione found us and brought us here, but she’s left to go get help.  She said she saw you being dragged along a corridor before disappearing into a shimmer.  She followed the shimmer here, and there was this huge three-headed dog sleeping to the sound of the harp.  But then the harp stopped and the dog woke, so now Draco is singing which has put it back to sleep.  What’s down there anyway?”

 

 “I don’t know,” Callidus replied.  “Some sort of moving plant.  Did Hermione see who did this?  And is this the third-floor corridor?”

 

Harry nodded.  “Hermione only saw you being dragged and she the shimmer, but it’s probably the same person who has been attacking all year.  And yeah, this is the third floor corridor.  I can see why Professor Dumbledore warned us away - this dog is huge!  He could probably chew my leg off in one bite if he wanted to.  Do you see anything down there that can help you get back up?”

 

 “Let me take a look.”  Slowly, Callidus walked through the plant.  It seemed drawn to his movements, but as long as kept his motions gentle, the plant did not harm him.  “There’s some sort of passageway here!”

 

 “Really?  Draco, should we take a look?”

 

 “Are -” Before Draco could reply, he squeaked and then started singing again.

 

 “Sorry,” Harry said, abashed.  “I forgot you can’t reply or else that dog wakes up.  Let’s go down there.” 

 

 “Noooo, we are not going down there,” Draco sang, adding his own words to the melody.  “That woooould be crazy!  Merrrlin, this feels sooo stupid.  Don’t yooou dare tell anyone about this!”

 

 “Just a quick look!” Harry pleaded.  “Hermione’ll be right back, and she’ll have brought one of the professors to come help.  I’m going in.”

 

Before Draco could sing in protest, Harry jumped down.

 

 “Don’t move too much!” Callidus cried out, when he saw Harry struggle in surprise against the plant.  “That plant is attracted to your movement!”

 

Harry’s eyes widened, but he reined in his fear, and held himself still.  The vines which were starting to tighten around him, released their deadly grip.

 

 “Thanks,” Harry said gratefully before looking up at the rectangular opening above.  “Coming Draco?  Or are you going to sing up there the whole time?”

 

Draco glared, but eventually, he jumped down after Harry, and the singing abruptly stopped.  Above them, they could hear a shuffling, and then the light was blocked out by the sight of three enormous dog faces, growling and barking.

 

 “What is this?” Draco exclaimed, when he realized that whatever was on the ground was quickly winding around his limbs and body.

 

 “Don’t struggle!” Callidus warned Draco.  However, unlike Harry, Draco couldn’t seem to still his panic, and struggled harder.

 

 “Get it off me!” Draco cried, fighting the plant that coiled around him with increasing pressure.

 

 “Stop moving, Draco!” Harry reached forward, tugging the vines.

 

Callidus pulled out his wand.  “ _ Petrificus Totalus! _ ”

 

With Draco bound in place (and glaring at them with a mix of panic and anger), the vines slowly loosened their constricting grip.  Gently, Harry and Callidus dragged Draco away from the grasping tendrils, and when Draco’s glare was no longer so murderous, Callidus ended the spell.

 

He knew he should keep quiet, considering how ruffled Draco looked, but Callidus couldn’t resist, and with a smirk, he said:  “Well?  Are you going to thank me for saving you?”

 

To his surprise, once Draco had gotten his bearings, the blond looked up at him and said a quiet: “Thank you.”

 

Callidus blinked, surprised, and then nodded in acknowledgement.

 

 “Where do you think this leads?” Harry asked.  He had ventured ahead towards the long passage, his wand lit using a  _ lumos  _ spell.  From the corner of his eyes, Callidus noticed the way that the vines seem to pause their motions when faced with light.

 

 “I haven’t a clue,” Callidus admitted.  “Whatever is going on, I get the impression that Dumbledore is trying to keep people away from it.  Why else would he warn us away from the third-floor corridor, and have that -” he gestured towards the dog-thing, “guarding this place?”

 

 “You think he’s hiding something?” Draco asked, perking up in interesting. “I bet it’s something powerful!  It would have to be, if it’s something of Dumbledore’s.”

 

Harry grinned mischievously.  “Now you’re interested?”

 

 “If Hermione is looking for help, we likely won’t have much time down here,” Callidus pointed out.

 

Harry shrugged.  “Doesn’t mean we can’t explore.  We’ll just say that we wanted to get away from the three-headed dog and the plant.”

 

The trio trekked down the passageway, as Draco speculated about the kind of powerful artifacts that Dumbledore was hiding (and what he hoped it might be.)  In fact, Draco didn’t stop chattering until they became aware of the sound of flapping and fluttering.  Bats, perhaps?  There was a light ahead, and as they ventured forth, they came to a brightly lit chamber with a high ceiling, and what looked like a thick flock of birds flying in chaotic directions all around.

 

 “Well, this isn’t what I was expecting,” Draco said, sounding disappointed.

 

 “There’s a door up ahead,” Callidus observed.  

 

Draco brightened.  “So the artifact is probably past that door!  Come on!”

 

The trio peered towards the fluttering birds nervously, but they seemed content to flap around, so they crossed the chamber and attempted to open the door.  Unfortunately, it was locked, and even the unlocking charm failed to open it.

 

 “Well, this has all been pointless.  Should we head back?” Draco suggested.  “What’s taking Hermione so long anyway?”

 

 “Erm - I don’t think those are actually birds,” Harry remarked.  This caused Callidus and Draco to look at the fluttering objects more closely, and they realized that in fact, they were looking at keys.  Not only that, but there were a set of broomsticks to the side, which suggested that the right key needed to be chased after and caught.

 

 “What’s the point of that?” Callidus wrinkled his nose.  “I refuse to believe that Dumbledore is hiding an artifact.  He’s all but provided the way through!”

 

Harry grinned.  “But think about how fun it’ll be to catch the key!”

 

Harry and Draco shared a look and raced towards the brooms.  “First one to catch the key wins!” Harry declared, as he threw his leg over the handle and kicked off.

 

 “Wins what?” Draco asked as he followed Harry, excited about the prospect of a competition.

 

 “Erm - wins the key?”

 

 “That’s no fun.  How about the person who loses has to - hm - do the other person’s summer homework!” Draco proposed.

 

 “Agreed!” 

 

In the end, it was Harry who caught the key, which was probably a good thing because while both boys preferred playing over doing homework, Draco was more meticulous about his assignments than Harry was.  They unlocked the door, thinking that maybe, they would have finally found what Dumbledore was hiding, but instead, the next room consisted of a giant chessboard, surrounded by darkness.

 

Draco made a sound of disappointment.  “We have something similar to this in the garden of our manor.  Don’t see why they have one down here though.  It’s so inaccessible that no one can play it.”

 

 “Yeah, I remember seeing it when we were out flying,” Harry recalled, as he thought about his time at Malfoy manor.”  

 

 “Maybe this is some sort of storage space,” Harry speculated.

 

 “But then, shouldn’t there be other junk down here?”  Callidus mused.  The trio fell into a thoughtful silence at the moment as they contemplated what to do next.

 

 “D’you think that whoever is trying to attack us will come back down here?” Harry wondered.

 

Draco looked back at the door nervously, and fingered his wand.  “They know we’re here,” he said, almost as if trying to reassure himself that the trio hadn’t been abandoned to this mysterious place.

 

 “Whoever left me down here might not have known about all this,” Callidus answered.  “When they did the body-bind and dropped me down the hole, they made a comment about that dog, as though they expected it to be awake and that it would -” Callidus swallowed, as he contemplated being mauled to death by the three-headed dog.  “- kill me.  They also didn’t think anyone would find me down here.  I got the impression that they weren’t planning to come back.”

 

Harry hummed.  “We should still be careful though.”  His words caused all of them to tense up, primed for danger.

 

 “Do you think we’re supposed to play this thing?” Harry asked the other two.  “Maybe we should see what’s on the other side.”

 

It did feel like it would be a waste of time to be playing chess when Hermione and a professor could walk through the door at any moment.  So the trio skirted the edge chessboard, walking to the other side and into the impenetrable darkness that even a  _ lumos _ couldn’t brighten.  However, despite the darkness, they still came to a wall, and as they trailed their fingers along it, they came to an open door as well, from which an unpleasant odor could be scented.

 

As the entered the next room, there was an enormous, unconscious troll lying on the floor with a bloody lump on its head.  The trio shared a look, uncertain of what to make of the situation.

 

 “Why is there an unconscious troll down here?” Draco asked, using the edge of his robes to cover his nose.  “It’s not going to wake, is it?  Because I really don’t want to have to face another troll again.”

 

 “D’you think someone has been here before us?” Harry asked.  “That door -” he gestured to the door behind them, “- wasn’t locked or even shut.”

 

 “It’s a possibility.  Perhaps Dumbledore decided to come down here to retrieve whatever it is you think he’s hiding,” Callidus considered.

 

The idea seemed to make Draco unhappy.  “Well, that’s unfortunate.  Maybe we should just head back.”

 

 “We could peek and see what’s behind the next door first, and if it’s nothing, we can head back,” Harry suggested.  “We’re already here, so we might as well.”

 

Thus decided, the trio edged around the body of the foul-smelling troll and through the next door.  They passed through something that left a feeling like needles on their skin, and when they were all in the room, a crackling force of energy surrounded the chamber on all sides, like a wall of blue-black lightning.  They saw that they were not alone.  Facing a table covered with various different phials of potions was Professor Quirrell.  The timid man turned around, causing his robes to swish as he faced them.  Gone was the familiar nervous expression, and in its place was a dangerous gleam that caused the hairs on their arms to rise in alarm.  Though Quirrell still looked weary, nothing about him suggested that he was safe.  Something about the man triggered their instincts, and they felt the urge to back away from the man, but as they neared the lightning wall, their skin began to sting and they dared not get closer.

 

Quirrell smiled, but it was a terrifying smile, all teeth and threat, like a predator that feasted as much on pain and fear as on flesh and blood.

 

 “Potter and his little friends,” Quirrell noted, his bloodshot eyes fixed on Harry (causing him to miss Draco’s offended expression at being referred to as a ‘little friend’ as if he were some kind of lackey.  Malfoys are  _ never _ lackeys.)

 

 “It was you all along?” Harry asked, and even though he had half expected it, he was still surprised.  “The one trying to kill us?”

 

Quirrell raised his eyebrows, a speculative gleam in his eyes that was a mixture between amusement and cruelty.  “Figured that out, did you?  Though it was really only you that I meant to kill.  I couldn’t care less about the others.  Troublesome thing too, how you manage to survive despite my repeated efforts to kill you.  You’d already be dead by now if not for that unfortunate dueling club of yours.  But your luck is sure to run out - and soon at that.”  

 

Something was different about Quirrell, and it struck Callidus that not only was the professor’s stammer gone, but he now carried himself with an air of confidence - arrogance even.  But before Callidus could voice this, Harry spoke.  “Why are you doing this?  What happened to your stammer?” 

 

Though it was unsurprising that Harry could be so bold with his questions, Callidus hated the way that Quirrell’s attention was fixed on his friend, especially since he was coming to grips with the fact that Quirrell was  _ not _ timid and  _ not _ useless or helpless.  Both he and Draco hand their hands tightly gripped around their wands, but neither had pulled them out - it would have drawn the professor’s attention to them, and they weren’t ready for that yet.  Besides, they wanted to know Quirrell’s motives.  And why did he say he only wanted to hurt Harry, when there were definitely instances where only Callidus had been harmed? 

 

Although as Callidus gave it more thought, he realized that there might be more than one perpetrator - whoever threw him down the trapdoor was surely someone different than Quirrell, right?  Unless Quirrell had gotten down here by some different means.  Callidus couldn’t rule that out.

 

 “Why am I doing this?”  Quirrell threw his head back and laughed, a cold sharp sound that felt like broken glass in their ears.  “You mean you don’t even  _ know _ ?”  Quirrell laughed again.  “The sheer dumb luck of your circumstances is truly remarkable.”  Another cruel smile.  “Though in this case, perhaps it is bad luck, since you won’t be alive by the end of this.  I have need for you yet though.  As for my s-s-s-stammer - it was quite the little act, wasn’t it?  Who would ever suspect t-t-timid little Quirrell?”

 

 “We suspected you,” Harry answered daringly.  “And you still haven’t answered my question.”

 

 “Did you suspect me?  Perhaps you aren’t as hopeless as I thought.  After all the Boy Who Lived has to be good for  _ something _ .  But if you want to know why I’m doing this, I suppose I can let you know.  Think of it as a final parting gift before you die.”

 

 “Maybe you should be the one worrying about death.  You look halfway to the grave yourself,” Harry retorted.

 

Quirrell scowled.  “Well, no thanks to a certain idiotic half-giant and his dragon, finding my preferred food source has been exceedingly difficult.”

 

 “Food source?” 

 

 “Unicorn blood.”

 

Quirrell’s announcement caused the trio to pale in horror.  What kind of monster drank unicorn’s blood?  Seeing their discomfort, Quirrell gave them another one of his frightening toothy smiles.

 

 “But I digress.  You wished to know why I am here.  I’m after the philosopher’s stone, of course.”

 

Callidus and Draco gasped, but Harry just gave Quirrell a blank look.  Those who were familiar with the magical world knew what the philosopher's stone was - the stone was the stuff of legends, being the key to everlasting life (and gold).  But Harry was raised by muggles, and as much as he had learned about the magical world, there had been no reason for him to look up and read about the philosopher’s stone.

 

Quirrell’s eyes narrowed upon seeing Harry’s lack of response.  “You don’t even know what the philosopher’s stone is, do you?  The quality of education here at Hogwarts has degraded since Dumbledore became headmaster.  Sickening.  Well, to remedy your ignorance, the philosopher's stone transforms any metal to gold, but more importantly, it produces the Elixir of Life, and thus, it is a key to immortality.”

 

Callidus couldn’t believe that such an item was being kept at Hogwarts.  He couldn’t believe that Draco turned out to be  _ right  _ (about the fact that there was a powerful artifact.)  And what was Dumbledore thinking, leaving something like the philosopher's stone in the castle, guarded by a useless three-headed dog, some sluggish vines, and flitting keys?

 

 “Now, I believe this is the final chamber before I can access the Stone.  All I need is to find the right potion.”  Quirrell looked over at the phials and then towards the trio with a speculative gleam in his eyes.  “I could just force-feed you the potions, and throw you through these walls of lightning to see whether or not you survive.  Shall I?”  A look of hunger was in his eyes, relishing the very idea of causing them pain.

 

 “No!” Callidus exclaimed, surprised with himself for drawing Quirrell’s attention.  Yet, he didn’t want to see his two blood-brothers harmed, and with his knowledge of potions, he knew he could do this one thing for them.

 

 “I’m considered a prodigy at Potions,” Callidus explained.  “I can show you which one is the right one.”

 

Quirrell’s eyes trailed over him, and Callidus felt a horrible creeping sensation over his skin.  However, Quirrell agreed with the suggestion and beckoned him forwards.  On wobbly legs, Callidus crept up to the table and examined the various phials.  There was no letter of instructions and nothing to indicate what the potions would even do.  The only way out of this room was to have an extensive understanding of potions.

 

Callidus picked up the phial furthest on the left and opened the stopper, giving it a sniff.  It emitted a pungent odor that made his eyes sting, and he recognized it immediately: the ingredient was essentially magically inert - it was from the sap of a plant known as the barb weed.  Its only purpose was to mask the smell and taste of potions to make them unrecognizable.  As such, it was rarely used (and if it was used, it was often used for nefarious purposes.)  When Callidus unstoppered the other phials, they all emitted the same odor.  If Callidus hadn’t been so anxious, he would have been impressed.  If the other chambers were meant as tests that had to be passed, this one was truly a difficult one.  He wondered if Slughorn had anything to do with it.

 

The only way he could detect the right potion was to make use of his magical sensitivity, and Callidus felt more thankful than ever that he had taken up the discipline (and made sure to exercise the skill on a daily basis.)

 

 “Which is it, boy?” Quirrell asked, with a gleam in his eye that said that he would very much like to just shove the potions down Callidus’s throat.

 

It was difficult to access his abilities under pressure.  At first, Callidus thought that he wouldn’t be able to sense anything at all, and he could feel tremors in his limbs, though he tried to hold the phials steady.  Thankfully, he remembered to make use of the meditation techniques to still his mind, and he pushed his emotions aside, knowing that they weren’t helping him now.

 

He wrapped his hands around each phial, and although they were all different, he started to think that maybe he was wrong about his initial assessment.  One of them had a particularly different sensation that felt like prickling on his skin and seemed compatible with the lightning wall.  Yet, as he rechecked all the potions (with an added swirl in his hands and another sniff), it only confirmed his worries. 

 

He held up the potion that gave him the prickly feeling towards Quirrell.  “This is it.”  

 

What Callidus did not tell Quirrell (and he was careful not to look him in the eye) was that  _ all _ the potions, including the one that would let them pass were also poisons. 

 

Quirrell snatched the phial out of Callidus’s hands with a triumphant smile. 

 

 “I don’t need you anymore,” Quirrell smirked at Callidus.  With wide eyes, Callidus watched as Quirrell raised the phial towards his lips.

 

 “Oh wait, how silly of me.  Best to test this first, yes?”  With that Quirrell strode over to Harry and grabbed his chin, but as soon as the professor’s skin contacted Harry’s, Harry shrieked in pain, his hand instinctively moving towards his scar, while Quirrell cried out and let go, staring down at his hand with confusion.  Harry had scrambled away from Quirrell, but Quirrell was still looking down at his hand, which was blistering as though severely burned, and hissing as he gritted his teeth through the agony.

 

Knowing that he was distracted (and also clearly dangerous), Callidus pulled out his wand and began drawing the runes in the air that would create the magic suppression field.  Harry and Draco were edging away, but neither of them dared to touch the lightning wall, which they could feel as a stinging at their backs.

 

Since Callidus was focused on drawing the runes, he did not see the way that Harry’s bewilderment turned into resolve.  The black-haired boy shoved the palm of his hand in Quirrell’s face, causing the professor to screech in such a way that left the trio feeling sick with horror, while their eardrums rang with pain, but that did not stop Harry from snatching the phial in the man’s hands.

 

Before Callidus could give any warning, Harry had taken a gulp of the potion, and handed it to Draco who took a gulp of his own.  The two boys dashed towards Callidus, knowing that Quirrell was too distracted by the torment of his burnt face to effectively harm them.

 

 “Drink it!” Harry insisted, as Draco thrust the phial towards Callidus.  He hesitated for only a moment.  His choices were either to drink the poison, which the trio had some chance of surviving because they had taken a poison countermeasure potion that slowed the effects of poisons, or to remain stuck in this chamber with a burning madman.

 

Though it was energetically draining, Callidus kept his wand pointed at Quirrell to maintain the field, while with the other hand, he took a swallow of the disgusting tasting potion.  As soon as it touched his lips, he felt as though his entire body was crackling, as though he had just drank a dose of liquid electricity.  And while Quirrell was indeed doubled over with suffering, Harry’s hand had only blinded one eye.  

 

The crazed teacher pulled out his wand, and a beam of green light shot towards them, which the trio barely dodged.  Their time in the dueling club, playing Wystan’s chaotic tag-games had honed their instincts.  Callidus managed to even hold the suppression field, though it was rapidly draining his strength, but he wondered if it was even doing any good when Quirrell was still able to cast such powerful spells.  If this was Quirrell’s power while his magic was suppressed, what must it be like when the man’s magic was not suppressed?

 

 “Go!” Harry cried out, pushing his friends towards the doorway that would lead them back to the troll room.  The trio sprinted, as Quirrell threw another curse that was a sickly red in colour.  The three of them dodged that as well, and Quirrell snarled in frustrating, knowing that being blinded in one eye was throwing off his aim, not to mention that his arm and face throbbed with the sharpest of burning pains.  As for the sluggishness of his magic, Quirrell hardly noticed it - not while the agony of his body screamed at his brain.

 

Luck was on the trio’s side, because they all threw themselves past the lightning wall and through the door that led to the room where the unconscious troll was lying, just as another green curse was cast their way.  Moving past the lightning wall felt like they had just swam through an ocean of needles, but the discomfort was easily ignored when there was a crazed professor throwing deadly (non-verbal) curses at them.  

 

The trio did not stop to look back, but ran until they slammed into a warm body in the chess room wearing lavender and bronze robes - it was Professor Dumbledore, trailed by Hermione and Professor McGonagall.

 

 “Harry!  Callidus!  Draco!”  Hermione cried out, running towards them.  “I’m sorry I couldn’t come sooner.  I found Professor McGonagall first, but she insisted that we find Professor Dumbledore because all the teachers have been having trouble with their magic.”

 

Callidus looked over at Harry and Draco, and judging by the way that Draco tensed, he had the feeling that the blond had somehow managed to dose all the professors with his magic suppressing potion.  How he did it, Callidus had no clue, but he was determined to question the blond later.

 

 “Professor Quirrell!” Harry blurted out.  “He’s the one who’s trying to hurt us!  We left him back there in the lightning room.”

 

 “He tried to use the killing curse on us,” Callidus added, causing Hermione and Professor McGonagall to gasp.  “I recognize the green colour.  I think he also tried to use the entrail-expelling curse - it was a sickly red.”

 

 “I’m glad to see that you boys are unharmed,” Dumbledore told them.  “Minerva, take them to see Poppy immediately, and explain to her where they’ve been.”

 

With that, Dumbledore rushed onwards to see to Quirrell, while Professor McGonagall brought the trio (who were still in a state of shock) to the infirmary, followed by a fretful Hermione.  It struck Callidus as odd that Dumbledore would say that the three of them were unharmed.  Didn’t he know that all the potions in the phials were poisons?  But then again, he must have known, or why else would he send them to the infirmary.

 

Indeed, once they were all sitting on the white infirmary beds, Madam Pomfrey clucked over them, and gave them each a dose of the antidote but she did not tell them what it was.  Only Callidus knew the truth.  It felt strange, like a million little tugs in his veins, but once the antidote began to work, he felt a bit more alert and healthier.

 

Though Professor McGonagall wanted to know what happened (it wasn’t as though Dumbledore confided much in her after all,) she respected Madam Pomfrey’s insistence that the trio needed to rest after their ordeal.  Even Hermione was shooed off, and told to come back later.

 

Once Madam Pomfrey had ascertained that the trio were fine, she ambled off, and the three of them gathered on Harry’s bed, which was in the middle.

 

 “That was nuts,” Harry uttered.  He still looked as though he were in shock.  “Do - d’you think I killed Professor Quirrell?  I didn’t - I didn’t know I would hurt him like that, and I know he’s the one who has been trying to kill us, but that doesn’t mean that I want to kill anyone.”

 

Harry’s eyes shimmered with wetness, but he was too proud to cry and stubbornly fought his tears.

 

 “He was still alive when we left,” Callidus reassured him.  “And if he was seriously injured, then Dumbledore could probably help him.  He might go to Azkaban for this though.”

 

 “For using the killing curse?  I’m sure of it.  My father will see to it,” Draco affirmed.

 

Harry shook his head.  “I can’t believe -”  Harry trailed off.

 

Callidus laid a hand on Harry’s shoulder.  “I know.  Even knowing that Quirrell has been attacking us all year is different than facing him in person.  I never want to face anything like that again.”

 

 “We survived though.  I can’t believe it.  And you said he was casting killing curses at us?”  Harry questioned.

 

 “Yes.  That green coloured curse was the killing curse.  And it was cast even though I had the magic suppressing field aimed at him.  He must have been extremely powerful.”  Callidus looked at Draco, unable to hide his curiosity.  “Did you dose the professors with the magic suppressing potion?  I thought I heard Hermione say that all the professors are having problems with their magic.”

 

Though he was feeling shaken, Draco managed a small smirk.  “I did - I called one of the manor house-elves and told them to sneak the potion into the professors’ food.  Didn’t seem to affect Quirrell though.”

 

Callidus shrugged.  “Maybe it did.  Maybe without the potion and without the suppression field, we’d all be dead, and it was the only thing that gave us a chance.”

 

The trio fell into silence as they considered the idea.  They had just had a very narrow brush with death, and they were suddenly very grateful to have survived.

 

 “Quirrell must have been hiding his power all along,” Harry remarked.  “He did a good job of it too.  I never would’ve guessed that he could be so powerful.  D’you think that even Dumbledore was fooled?”

 

 “Dumbledore never gave me any hint that he knew,” Callidus replied.

 

Eventually, Madam Pomfrey came back out and made them return to their own beds, telling them they needed rest.  Callidus didn’t reveal to either Harry or Draco that they had been poisoned - he wasn’t sure if they needed to know or not, but either way, they had been given the antidote, so it wouldn’t make a difference.  The academic part of him couldn’t help but wonder how much of a difference the poison countermeasure potion made.  Had it been enough to save their lives?

 

 “You boys stay there now,” Madam Pomfrey commanded.  “Professor Dumbledore has insisted that I see to someone, and he refuses to bring the patient into the infirmary.  The nerve of that man!”  The matron huffed indignantly, while the trio shared a look.  It sounded like Dumbledore had dealt with Quirrell, and he must be alive if Dumbledore wanted the matron to see him.

 

 “You’re permitted to have visitors, but I want you to stay in the hospital wing for observation until at least dinner,” Madam Pomfrey insisted, before she left.  “If there are any problems, there are charms that will alert me, so you needn’t fret.”

 

Their first visitor was Hermione, who rushed into the hospital wing just as Madam Pomfrey was departing.  Her eyes were red and her cheeks shiny, as though she had been crying.

 

 “Callidus, Harry, Draco!” she cried out as she reached the foot of their beds.  “I can’t believe someone was down there with you!  If I had known, I would have insisted that Professor McGonagall come sooner, instead of fetching Professor Dumbledore!”

 

 “Er - it’s alright, Hermione,” Harry reassured her.  “You couldn’t have known.”

 

 “It still helped,” Draco said quietly.  He looked embarrassed, and it had been a while since he had directly spoken to Hermione.  “It helped to know that someone was coming for us.  So - I appreciate it.  You’re - you’re a good friend.”

 

Hermione blushed at this, somehow looking both pleased but also still a bit distressed.

 

 “No one would have even known where to look for me if not for you,” Callidus added.  “I owe you for this.  Again.”

 

 “You don’t -” Hermione began, but Callidus cut her off.

 

 “Please.  Just - accept it.”  It was a matter of pride after all.  Hermione nodded.

 

 “So, what happened down there?” she asked, unable to hide her curiosity, seeing that the trio of boys appeared to be alive and well.

 

Slowly, and then with more enthusiasm, they began to recount their brief adventure beneath the trapdoor.  Hermione was particularly interested in the ‘tests’ in each of the chambers, speculating that they had been created by the professors.  The vines (which Hermione informed them was Devil’s Snare) would have been from Professor Sprout.  The keys sounded like the work of Professor Flitwick, and so on.  They even told her about the hidden philosopher’s stone (while Draco kept saying that he “knew all along,” that Dumbledore was keeping a powerful artifact hidden away, not that they even got to see it.)

 

 “A part of me wishes I could have been there,” Hermione murmured.  “Not that I would like the danger or threat to my life, of course.  But I would have liked to see the application of magic in those tests.  It sounds like a wonderful intellectual challenge.”

 

They were interrupted by the arrival of the first year Slytherins, and although Hermione attempted to leave, the trio insisted that she stay.  Surprised by even Draco’s support, Hermione sat down at one of the chairs by the infirmary beds.

 

The Slytherins were guarded upon seeing Hermione with the trio, but the three of them affirmed that Hermione was ‘all right’ and that she ‘could be trusted,’ and so the first years managed to relax in the presence of the Gryffindor.  Even if they did not trust her, it was generally known that she had no friends amidst the Gryffindors, so who could she tell?

 

Hermione’s presence was enough to keep Parkinson from smothering Harry and Draco (and even Callidus) with worry, and once again, the trio told the story of what had happened to them on the third-floor corridor.  By the time they were finished, the Slytherins were promising retribution against Quirrell, appalled that he dared to hurt one of their own.  There were threats of firings and lawsuits (and Bulstrode looked ready to personally punch the man’s face in).  Furthermore, they all had their own opinions about the philosopher’s stone.  Davis was convinced it had to be a hoax.  Parkinson kept saying that she wished she had one for herself.  And Zabini brought up a rather interesting question: Why was the philosopher’s stone being kept at Hogwarts, and what other sort of treasures might be hidden here?

 

Eventually, Madam Pomfrey returned, trailed by a tired looking Dumbledore, and they shooed the students out, leaving only the trio behind.  Dumbledore walked up to their beds and gave them a wan smile, but his eyes still held a touch of that familiar twinkle, even if his wrinkles looked deeper and his face was pale.

 

 “How are you feeling, m’boys?” he asked them.

 

The trio shared a look, and Callidus answered, “We’re fine.  We’d like to know what happened though.”

 

 “Is Quirr - Professor Quirrell alive?” Harry asked, an anxious note in his voice.

 

 “Quirinius Quirrell is indeed alive,” Dumbledore informed Harry gently, as though understanding Harry’s fears about the possibility of killing someone.  His smile was warm and reassuring.  “As for what happened -” Dumbledore paused, as he considered what he wanted to tell the three first years.  “It seems that Professor Quirrell was possessed.”

 

 “Possessed!” Harry and Draco gasped.

 

 “Who?” Callidus demanded.  “Why did he want to target us - well, Harry?”

 

Professor Dumbledore was silent for a moment, and the atmosphere in the infirmary felt extremely weighty.  Would Dumbledore actually tell them?  Or would he make excuses about their youth, and how it was better to leave such things in the hands of adults?

 

 “Please tell us,” Harry pleaded.  “I want to make sense of all this.”

 

Dumbledore nodded.  “It was Voldemort.”

 

The trio gasped.  Voldemort!  Here, at Hogwarts!  No wonder why Quirrell had such powerful magic, if he had been possessed by the Dark Lord.

 

 “So he really was alive,” Draco blurted out.  “I thought you were just barm - er -” Draco trailed off, his cheeks and ears pinkening as he realized that he was just about to tell Dumbledore that he was crazy to his face.

 

The twinkle in Dumbledore’s eyes seemed to brighten with amusement.  “It wouldn’t be entirely accurate to say that he is alive.  But he is surviving, as some sort of spirit or miasma.  He won’t be hurting anyone any longer.  He isn’t dead, but he is -” Dumbledore’s eyes hardened the slightest bit, “- contained.”

 

 “Why did he want to kill me?” Harry asked.  “He said he didn’t care about others, but he wanted to kill me specifically.”

 

 “Alas, I feel you are too young to -”

 

Callidus cut him off as he recalled something that Dumbledore had told him, nearly a year ago when he had woken up in Hogwarts, feeling alone and confused.  “The prophecy.”

 

Harry started, looking at Callidus with bewilderment.  After all, Callidus had never mentioned the prophecy regarding Lily to either Harry or Draco - it was something that he thought of as related to his ‘past’ self and not his current self.

 

 “There’s a prophecy that says that you have the power to vanquish Voldemort,” Callidus explained.  “I - I haven’t really thought about it until now.  I guess the last thing I expected was to actually have an encounter with Voldemort.”

 

 “Vanquished -” Harry repeated, his eyes wide.  “Why haven’t I heard about this prophecy?  If it’s about me, shouldn’t someone have told me?”

 

Callidus, Harry and even Draco turned to look at the headmaster expectantly. 

 

 “The prophecy stated that a child would be born with the power to vanquish the Dark Lord,” Dumbledore told them, acting as though this piece of information was something he meant to impart the whole time, rather than something he had intended to hide.  “And indeed you have, twice now: once when you were but a baby, and again today with the aid of your friends.”

 

For some reason, Callidus felt like Dumbledore was leaving something out, but the old man was extremely difficult to read.  “Was there more to the prophecy?” he demanded.

 

 “The prophecy said that the Dark Lord would mark him as an equal, and that he would have a power that the Dark Lord knows not.  I believe that your scar is that mark, Harry.  As for the power that he knows not, well, that would be the power of love.”

 

Harry knit his brows as he considered the headmaster’s explanation.  It all sounded rather odd, but then again, he knew very little about prophecies.  Nonetheless, it was shocking to think that not only was he a celebrity in the wizarding world, but there was also a prophecy about him and Voldemort.  What else was he ignorant about?

 

 “You said that Voldemort is contained,” Harry stated.  “How?”

 

 “Through the use of some ancient and very powerful magic and enchantments,” Dumbledore replied, unhelpfully.  “Though the work that you three did served to help a great deal.  He was badly burned, and was much weakened, it seemed, by drinking some sort of magic suppressing potion, and what’s more, Slughorn’s brews also did their work to incapacitate him.  By the time I found him, he barely had the strength to lift his wand.”

 

Callidus’s eyes widened.  He remembered that after he had drank Slughorn’s potions that he had dropped the phial.  Somehow, Quirrell must have saved the container from shattering, and drank the potion himself (after failing to kill the trio) but instead of following them, he went on to the next room.

 

 “Did - did he get the philosopher’s stone?” Callidus wondered, just as Harry asked: “Why did he burn when he touched me?”

 

Dumbledore smiled.  “Did you think I would make it so easy to claim the Stone, Callidus?  He tried, but no, there were protections on it.  He would not have succeeded in acquiring it.  As for why he could not touch you without burning, Harry, I believe that is a result of your mother’s love.  When she died to save you, it left a sort of mark - an unseen protection.  You must understand that someone like Voldemort cannot understand love.  When he attempted to touch you - you, whose essence is saturated by love itself - it was agony for him to touch something so good.”

 

 “How could You-Know-Who have been alive all this time?” Draco cut in.  “What kind of magic would have allowed him to survive?”

 

Dumbledore looked back at Draco, and he seemed to be silently weighing his answers.  “I only have suspicions, my boy, but I assure you that it is terrible magic that no sane witch or wizard would attempt.  And I assure you that Voldemort cannot be freed of the confinement that he is placed in.  I have made it so that even I cannot free him.”  The words were a warning: the Dark Lord is a lost cause and it would be folly to seek him out.  However, Draco seemed to understand the unspoken message, and he nodded.  Draco debated whether or not to tell his father, but he decided against it.  He wouldn’t want to free someone who tried so hard to kill his own brother and best-friend.  Draco wasn’t aware of it, but Dumbledore had caught his thoughts, and the old man smiled.

 

 “How do you get rid of him then?” Harry asked.  “Will he eventually die on his own?  He said he wanted the Elixir of Life.”

 

 “I will discover the magic that ties him to this world and destroy it.  But it is enough for now that he is contained, and can do no harm.”

 

Harry’s expression was thoughtful.  “What about Quirrell?”

 

 “Professor Quirrell was caught up in something beyond his power to control.  I do not believe that he intended for Voldemort’s possession to take over him as it did.  Some part of him is still trying to fight it.  I will do my best to save him.”

 

 “Was someone helping him?” Callidus asked, as he considered the person who who had thrown him down the trapdoor.

 

Dumbledore gave a slight shake of his head.  “I don’t believe so.  Quirrell kept himself apart from the others.  The three of you are looking rather worn.  I believe it would be best for me to leave you to your rest.”

 

Though the trio didn’t think they were that tired, they fell asleep soon after the headmaster left.  They were woken in the evening by Madam Pomfrey who had the house-elves bring them their dinner before letting them return to the Slytherin dungeons.

 

 “I don’t feel like I’ll be able to sleep tonight,” Harry remarked as the trio climbed down the stairs and through the corridors.

  
  
  
  
  


 “Me neither.  We could go forward with the prank, just like we planned,” Draco suggested.

 

Harry hummed.  “All right.”  The whole incident with Quirrell had been very disturbing, and a distraction like the prank sounded like the perfect way for them to take their mind off the whole matter.  The last thing any of them wanted to do was to toss and turn in bed, thinking about how they had almost died.


	38. Chapter 38

They spent the evening chatting with the Slytherins who were in the common room and wanted to hear all the news about what happened (or more accurately, Draco spread the tale while Callidus and Harry endured a lecture from Parkinson.)  When the other students started drifting off to bed, the trio downed the Camouflage Potion and grabbed the prank potion, creeping out of the dungeons, and feeling excited about the prospect of finally implementing their prank.

 

With Quirrell out of the way, Harry and Draco both felt a great deal more secure, but Callidus was still filled with a bit of unease.  Who was it that had thrown him down the trapdoor?  He had spent so much time working on the prank potion that he was just as keen as Harry and Draco to finally put their plan into action, but he also had no desire to be hurt, and resolved to stay close to the other two boys, just in case.

 

The trio snuck from bathroom to bathroom, regardless of whether it was the boys’ or girls’ bathroom, dripping the potion onto each faucet.  Initially, Harry and Draco had wanted to split up, but when Callidus explained that he still had concerns about the mysterious person who cast the body-bind on him, they agreed to stick together, even if it took much longer, and increased their risk of being discovered by Filch or attacked by Peeves. 

 

In fact, they narrowly managed to evade Peeves on the fourth floor - the poltergeist was almost upon them, but then he managed to come across a couple who were snogging and taunted them with a mocking sing-song voice instead.  It felt like it had taken them hours, but they had reached every bathroom (except for the ones that were located in the common rooms of the other Houses.)  Satisfied with a job well done, they took the grand staircase back down towards the dungeons, ignoring the portraits who commented on the strange rippling effect of the Camouflage Potion.

 

They were nearly at the dungeons, when Callidus heard a whisper, and Harry stood in place, looking bewildered.  There was another whisper, sounding almost like  _ ‘confundus _ ’ and Draco too paused.  The two boys blinked, dazed and uncertain about what was going on, just as another spell was cast, and Callidus was completely wrapped up in thick ropes, causing him to lose his balance and fall over.  He squirmed and struggled, but the ropes only dug into his skin.

 

 “Who are you?” he called out.  “Let me go!”

 

He felt hands upon him, dragging him around the corner so that Harry and Draco were out of sight.  He felt himself propped against a wall so that he was sitting up.

 

 “Why are you doing this?” Callidus demanded.  “Who are you?”  All he could see was that same, odd shimmer, that had moved to stand in front of him.  In fact, now that he considered it, he wondered how the person could see  _ him _ , seeing as the Camouflage Potion was still in effect.  But then again, the Camouflage Potion was far from perfect, and a powerful enough witch or wizard likely had ways to negate the potion’s magic.

 

 “I can’t believe you won’t die,” the shimmer hissed.  “You’ve got as many lives as a cat, Snape.”

 

 “I’m not Snape!” Callidus insisted, still struggling.  And as he considered his words, he realized that it was true.  He might have been Snape once, long ago, but that part of himself was gone, and long forgotten.  He was Callidus Prince now - a new person with a new life.  And it wasn’t fair if someone wanted to hurt him because of something that his ‘past’ self had done.

 

 “You are!” the voice whispered harshly.  “I know you are!  I was the one that gave you the potion that made you this way.”

 

The words startled Callidus.  He hadn’t given too much thought about the reasons that he was de-aged.  With so many changes in his life, he had been more concerned about living in the moment (and processing the past), than with figuring out why he went from thirty-one to eleven.  “I might have been Snape in a past life.  But I don’t remember any of it.  Whoever Snape was, he was a different person than who I am.”

 

 “No!” the voice exclaimed, louder than a whisper.  It was an oddly high pitched voice that sounded almost familiar.  “You have to pay for what you’ve done.”

 

 “I don’t even know what I - what Snape has done!” Callidus argued.

 

 “My father is dead because of you!  You destroyed my family!”

 

 “I’ve never killed anyone in my life.  Not in this life.  I’m just a twelve year old.  All I want is to get my Potions Mastery and have good grades and be with my friends.”

 

 “You have to die,” the voice said, and the shimmer moved towards him.  He felt the cold press of sharp metal at his throat.  The person’s body may have been warm, but Callidus felt terribly chilled.  Immediately, he stilled, not daring to move.

 

 “Please,” he pleaded.  “I don’t remember ever killing anyone.  I wouldn’t do something like that!”  To his horror, he felt his eyes moistening, as tears fell from his eyes.  He didn’t want to die, but why couldn’t he have died with dignity?  Harry hadn’t even cried (nor begged) when Quirrell was attacking him.  He was disgusted by his own weakness.  He pursed his lips, trying to ignore the burning prickle in his throat, and the wetness of his eyes.  He  _ had to _ stop crying.  He  _ had to  _ prove himself stronger than this!

 

 “Are you crying?” the voice hissed.  

 

 “No!” Callidus lied, horrified that his voice was breaking.

 

 “You’re crying!” the voice exclaimed, and because they were speaking louder once again, Callidus was aware that it was a rather high-pitched voice.  “Stop crying!”

 

 “I’m not crying!” Callidus insisted.  

 

 “You are!”  Abruptly, the cold metal blade pulled away from his neck, and shimmer moved away from him.

 

Callidus refused to answer, and instead, tried to keep his breathing even, but it was embarrassingly ragged.  His nose was stuffed up, and it was difficult to breath, and there was still a lump in his throat.  At the moment, he hated himself.

 

After what felt like an endless silence, the voice spoke.  “You really aren’t Snape are you.  I don’t think that man is capable of tears.”

 

Callidus pursed his lips, remaining stubbornly silent.

 

The shimmer huffed in irritation.  “This is so stupid.  I can’t believe I’ve been reduced to attacking babies.”

 

 “I’m not a baby!”

 

 “You are!  You know what?  I believe you.  You don’t remember Snape.  And you  _ aren’t _ Snape.  Snape died the moment I de-aged you and you lost all your memories.  But you know what?  If you become a Death Eater again, I swear on my magic that I will hunt you down and  _ Crucio _ you until you beg for death.”

 

Death Eater?  The words echoed in Callidus’s mind, so that he barely noticed when the ropes were removed from his body, and the shimmer had stomped off.  What had that person been talking about?  There was no way he could have been a Death Eater - that would have meant that he supported Voldemort.  He would never support the person that had killed Lily.  It must have been wrong - that person must have misunderstood.

 

Callidus was shaken - more so than he had been shaken by the experience with Quirrell.  He felt like he wanted to vomit, not just the contents of his stomach, but the contents of his mind.  But he suddenly remembered Harry and Draco.  Standing up on trembling legs, he shuffled towards his brothers and said a couple  _ finite incantatems _ ending the spell that had left them confused and dazed.  

 

 “What’s going on?” Harry asked, shaking his head as though trying to shake off a fog.

 

 “Why are we standing here?  We should get back to the dungeons before Filch catches us,” Draco remarked.  

 

In the dark, and with the Camouflage Potion, neither Harry nor Draco could see Callidus’s expression, and he was unprepared for conversation.  Instead, he silently followed the two of them back down to their dorms.  While Harry and Draco quietly whispered in excitement about the prank, Callidus remained quiet, not wanting to face what had happened this night.  For a fraction of a second, he had considered telling Harry and Draco what had happened, but then he would have to admit that the person had let him go because he had cried like a pitiful weakling.  In the end, shame kept him quiet.

 

That night, Callidus struggled to fall asleep.  He kept thinking of whether or not he had truly been a Death Eater.  If he had been a supporter of Voldemort, wouldn’t Dumbledore have said something when he was first de-aged?  The idea seemed ridiculous.  True, Callidus didn’t care for muggles, but Lily was a muggleborn, and he would never support someone who wanted to hurt her or saw her as inferior.  With the knowledge he had, it didn’t make any sense.

 

The only conclusion that he could come to (that he had no doubts about) was that Dumbledore had omitted to tell him something.  He knew enough about the old man to know that he had no qualms about making omissions.  In fact, earlier today, it seemed as though the headmaster wasn’t even going to tell Harry about the prophecy.

 

The only reasonable course of action would be to speak to Dumbledore immediately, and demand the truth.  He had to know whether he had been a Death Eater or not, and in the horrible circumstance that it might be true, he needed to find out why.  Dumbledore was a central figure when it came to muggle and muggleborn support, so Dumbledore’s beliefs were bound to be biased, and yet, Dumbledore had known him all the while that Severus Snape had been teaching.  He wouldn’t trust everything that the headmaster said, but he needed to knowledge if he wanted to piece the truth together.  

 

As Callidus tossed and turned and contemplated the situation, it occurred to him that Dumbledore wouldn’t be the only source of information.  Hadn’t Dumbledore said that Lucius Malfoy knew his old self?  Draco had invited Callidus and Harry to visit over the summer (if the both of them eventually decided against moving to Malfoy manor), which meant that he had the opportunity to talk to the Malfoy patriarch.  And yet, as much as he wanted to the know the truth, the idea was an unsettling one.  When it came to the elder Malfoy, there was no way that he would impart that kind of information for free.

 

When Callidus eventually fell asleep, he was plagued by nightmares of losing control of himself, and chasing Lily and then Harry around, shooting green beams of light at them with his wand.  In the dream, he kept looking over at his wand hand, panicking because he couldn’t control it.  The last thing in the world that he wanted to do was hurt his friends, and yet, he could not stop.  He woke up that morning feeling sick to his stomach.

 

That morning, Callidus lied and made excuses to his friends about wanting to speak to Dumbledore about the potions that they had drank in the mysterious third-floor corridor.  If he told them that he wished to speak about the philosopher’s stone, or other more interesting aspects of their adventures, they would probably invite themselves along.  And there was no way he would tell them about his fears of being a Death Eater.  

 

He made his way up the stairs and towards the stone gargoyle that guarded Dumbledore’s office.  To his surprise, the password hadn’t changed since the last time he had used it - perhaps this close to the end of the school year, Dumbledore saw no need for a new password.  Ascending the stairs he knocked on the wooden door and waited to be allowed entry.

 

 “Ah, Callidus,” Dumbledore greeted him warmly when the door opened.  “What can I do for you today?”

 

Callidus spoke without preamble, his expression grim.  “Was I a Death Eater?”

 

Of all the words or expressions that he imagined he would see, Callidus did not expect Dumbledore to look so sad.  It was as though the unhappiness was a tangible thing, as solid as the desk or knicknacks or any other item in the office.  And in that moment, Callidus knew, even if he did not openly admit it to himself.

 

Callidus narrowed his eyes, trying to act firm and in control.  “Don’t prevaricate.  I don’t need you to try and spare me from difficult truths.”  He was proud that his voice did not waver.

 

 “You were a Death Eater.”

 

Though a part of Callidus was prepared for this reality, he still felt as though the air had been knocked out of his lungs.  His legs felt as though they couldn’t support his weight, and he crumbled, but there was a chair behind him to catch him.  Dumbledore must have conjured it, knowing what was about to happen.

 

 “There was a reason I kept this from you, my boy,” Dumbledore told him gently.  “You deserve to have a fresh start, without having to suffer the wounds of your past.  You made mistakes, and more than paid the price, and you shouldn’t have to suffer anew for them.”

 

 “Tell me what happened.”  Callidus’s voice was barely more than a broken whisper.

 

 “Callidus -”

 

 “Just tell me!” he cried out desperately.

 

There was no twinkle in the headmaster’s eyes.  His elbows were on his desk, and his fingers steepled.  “You joined the ranks of Voldemort’s Death Eaters soon after you graduated from Hogwarts.  But it was only a few short years before you defected, and chose to join me and the Order of the Phoenix in our cause against Voldemort and his forces.”

 

 “What of Lily?  How could I have chosen to join the Death Eaters when Lily herself was a muggleborn?”

 

 “I’m afraid that the two of you had an irreconcilable falling out in your fifth year.  After that, the pair of you rarely ever spoke to one another.  You had your own friends in Slytherin, and she had hers in Gryffindor.”

 

 “Lily and I stopped being friends?”  Callidus wasn’t aware of how small he sounded.  He felt like his whole concept of reality had shattered, and nothing made sense anymore.  How could he and Lily have stopped being friends?  Callidus had always felt such a strong connection to her; she was his first real friend, and their bond had seemed unbreakable.  His breathing had become shallow, and he felt cold, so cold.  He wanted to curl up into a ball, and close his eyes, and block out his ears, and scream at the sheer  _ wrongness _ of everything.  It couldn’t be!  It just couldn’t be!

 

 “Callidus.  Callidus!”

 

Callidus peered up at the headmaster, unable to mask the pain in his own eyes.  He did not know how long Dumbledore had been calling him for.  The sympathy and compassion in those blue eyes only made everything so much worse.

 

 “I should not have told you this,” Dumbledore murmured.  “It’s too much for you to take.  You are mature for your age in many ways, and yet, you are not ready for this.  Perhaps when you’re older.”

 

 “What are you talking about?”  Callidus asked, dazed by all he had learned, so that Dumbledore’s words did not entirely penetrate his consciousness.

 

Dumbledore had taken out his wand, pointing it directly at Callidus, but all Callidus could do was blink stupidly up at him, wondering what it meant when Dumbledore’s face showed a terrible mix of grim sadness and determination.

 

 “I’m sorry, my boy.   _ Obliviate _ !”

 

-o-

 

Callidus blinked, looking towards Dumbledore who was wearing an amused smile.  What was he doing here?  Oh yes, he was discussing what had happened in the third-floor corridor with the headmaster.  He remembered belatedly that it was usually a bad idea to look the man in the eye, so he quickly shifted his gaze to the bookshelf behind the headmaster.

 

 “It was quite clever of you to figure out Slughorn’s potions.  He assured me that they would be near indistinguishable, but with your talent, I suppose I shouldn’t be surprised,” the headmaster said with a smile.  “You should be quite proud of your ability.  I heard too, about your poison countermeasure potion.  Horace is over the moon with happiness about your talents.  He spends half the staff meetings discussing you.  It’s only a matter of months before your creation on the shelves, isn’t it?”

 

Callidus replied with a quick nod.  “Yes.  The patent has already been filed, so it’s just a matter of the Ministry running some tests before it’s approved.”

 

Dumbledore beamed.  “Congratulations, my boy!  I always knew you would do well.”

 

 “Thank you.  I really ought to get going.  Harry and Draco are probably wondering why I’m taking so long.”

 

 “Of course!  It was good to see you Callidus.  You have done exceedingly well this year.  Though I would like to speak to you and Harry before you depart.  It’s about your living arrangements for the summer.”

 

Callidus flicked a curious look at Dumbledore and then nodded.  “I’ll go find him then.”

 

Callidus left the headmaster’s office and climbed down staircase after staircase until he reached the Great Hall.  While many of the students were finished their exams, some of the upperclassmen still had tests to complete.  Nonetheless, the atmosphere was light-hearted and festive.  Over at the Gryffindor table, he could see the Weasley twins feeding their housemates candies that changed their skin so that they were covered in furry pelts.  He noticed Hermione, and gave her a wave, which she returned.  When he looked over at the Slytherin table, almost all the first years were there.

 

 “Anyone affected yet?” Draco asked Callidus as he sat down next to Harry.  It took a moment for Callidus to figure out what he was asking.  The blond was wondering whether anyone had been affected by their prank.

 

 “It’s probably too early,” Callidus replied.  “Most people use their dorm bathrooms in the morning.  I doubt anyone’ll use the school bathrooms until late morning, at the earliest.  If you were that keen on fast results, you should have added diuretics to their drinks this morning.”

 

Draco hissed a curse.  “That’s a good idea.  Why didn’t you mention it before?”

 

Callidus shrugged.  “I didn’t think of it until now.”

 

 “You’re not wearing your hair potion today,  _ Cal _ ,” Parkinson observed from across the table, with a (disturbingly affectionate) pout.  “These days, Gregory and Vincent look better than you do.  We really can’t have that - they’re Hufflepuffs!”

 

 “Sickeningly happy Hufflepuffs at that,” Zabini drawled.  “Doesn’t it get exhausting, being so happy all the time?”

 

 “I know,” Parkinson answered with mock sympathy.  “It gives me a toothache, looking at them.  And they used to be such  _ nice _ boys.”  She gave an exaggerated sigh.

 

 “I bet I could take them on,” Bulstrode opined, her hands closing into eager fists.  “Both, at the same time.”

 

Harry grinned.  “They’d probably run if they saw you coming, Millie.”

 

Bulstrode grinned happily.  “You think so?  I’d want to get at least one good hit in.”

 

Parkinson wrinkled her nose.  “Like a muggle?  How brutish!”

 

Bulstrode shrugged.  “A body-bind isn't as satisfying as the crunch of a broken nose.”

 

 “Please Millie!” Greengrass begged.  “I’m trying to eat my breakfast.”

 

 “I’d still rather punch Quiver though,” Bulstrode declared. 

 

 “What happened to him anyway?” Parkinson asked.  “No one knows.”  She looked rather put out by this, seeing as she was accustomed to knowing what was happening with everyone.  Opinions flew across the table, but in the end, Professor Quirrell’s fate seemed to be shrouded in mystery.

 

Ignoring the speculations, Callidus leaned towards Harry.  “Dumbledore wants to speak to us about this summer.”

 

Having overheard, Draco looked at Callidus curiously.  “He’s not sending Harry back to the muggles is he?”

 

 “I don’t know,” Callidus replied.  “But there are still articles in the  _ Prophet _ about cases of muggle abuse, so I imagine there’d be an outcry if Dumbledore tried to do so.”

 

After finishing a leisurely breakfast, Callidus and Harry stood up and left the Great Hall, heading up towards the headmaster’s office.  Once they were through the doors, Callidus noticed Wystan coming their way and nodded at him.

 

 “No Calypso?” Callidus greeted inquisitively.  They spent so much time together that it was odd to see one without the other these days.

 

Wystan replied with a wry smile.  “Hello Callidus and Harry.  Unfortunately, Calypso hasn’t been sleeping well, so she’s sleeping in. N.E.W.T.s stress I imagine.  You two are finished your exams?”

 

Callidus and Harry nodded.

 

 “Lucky you.  I still have one left.  Arithmancy.”

 

 “What are you planning to do after you graduate?” Callidus asked.

 

 “I haven’t told you yet?”  Wystan appeared surprised.  “I suppose I’ve been so preoccupied with studying and spending time with Calypso that we haven’t really talked.”  Wystan broke into a wide grin.  “I’m thinking of starting up an Advocacy group with some of my friends.  With enough support, we might consider starting a political party as well.  Actually, the idea really took root after you made that potions discovery.”

 

Callidus was surprised.  “Oh?”

 

 “Yeah, after what happened -” Wystan’s expression was disgusted, “- seeing the way that they refused to even publish your findings - it made me realize that we live in a society that is extremely biased against certain types of magic.  I’ve done a bit of research into it in my spare time - or more accurately, I asked some friends to look into it - and it’s disturbing, how many schools of magic are banned and ignored, just because it happens to fall into the label of ‘Dark.’  Half the stuff isn’t even actually harmful!  The system is completely backwards.”

 

 “Huh.  I didn’t realize,” Harry murmured.

 

 “Most people don’t.  Some of this knowledge has been shoved under the rug for so many years that people aren’t even aware of the scope of knowledge out there.  The amount of magic that people make use of nowadays is actually quite limited.  For the most part, people are only concerned about every-day type magics that make their life easier.  To make matters more complicated, the Dark Arts is often associated with muggle and muggleborn prejudice.  But the truth is that Purebloods simply have more access to different types of magic because of old books and family grimoires - the type of stuff that gets passed down generation after generation.  Bloodlines do play a role in the Dark Arts, but not as a big of a role as most pureblood want to believe.  Part of what I want to do is to create that divide between the Dark Arts and Pureblood dogma.  Those two should be considered as completely separate issues.”

 

 “You’ve been giving this a lot of thought,” Callidus commented, admiration clear in his voice.

 

Wystan rubbed the back of his neck self-consciously and grinned.  “Yeah.  I guess you could say I’m pretty passionate about it.  We’ve had quite a few sponsors interested in our ideas, so our group already has a lot of backing.  There’s a lot we want to do beyond changing the political landscape.  We’re interested in expanding education as well.  I’ve spoken to some of my friends here, and they thinking of starting up a subsidiary group - I guess I should just call it a club - for next term.  You should join!  Euphemia Rowle and Gabriel Truman will be running it.  Euphemia’s a sixth year Slytherin.  You may have seen her around.  And Gabriel’s one of Calypso’s friends.  A sixth year Hufflepuff - well, seventh before long.”

 

 “Sounds interesting.  I’ll keep it in mind.”

 

 “You’ll get a chance to learn a lot of things outside the Hogwarts curriculum.  Anyhow, I gotta grab a bite to eat and then get back to studying.  Later, Callidus, Harry!”

 

With a jaunty wave and a bright grin, Wystan dashed off into the Great Hall.

 

Harry hummed.  “That was - interesting.  By Dark Arts, does that include things like Earth Magic and stuff like that?”

 

Callidus nodded.  “Yeah, most ancient magics fall under the Dark Arts nowadays.  The club seems like it’d be worth checking out.”

 

Harry grinned.  “Definitely.”

 

The pair climbed the steps of the Grand Staircase in silence.  Callidus contemplated Wystan’s plans - it all sounded very interesting.  It was rather curious that Calypso would be sleeping in though.  She had always struck him as a morning person, and unlike many of the other upperclassmen, she never skipped breakfast in the Great Hall, as far as he could tell.  But then again, N.E.W.T.s were known to be grueling, so he supposed it should come as no surprise that she would want to sleep in.  Still, something about the situation tugged at his mind.

 

For the second time that day, Callidus found himself in front of the gargoyle that guarded the headmaster’s office.  He gave the same password, and he and Harry stood on the steps that rose upwards, bringing them to the office door.

 

When the pair entered the office, there was set of cushy looking armchairs facing Dumbledore’s desk.  They certainly looked much more comfortable than the seat that Callidus had been sitting in earlier.

 

 “Harry!  Callidus!” Dumbledore welcomed with bright, smiling eyes.

 

 “Hello, Professor,” Harry replied, while Callidus nodded.

 

 “Please, make yourselves comfortable.”  The headmaster gestured to the armchairs, and Callidus and Harry sank into the soft fabric.

 

 “How are you feeling after your adventures?”  Dumbledore asked.  The question was directed more at Harry, since Callidus had just spoken to Dumbledore that morning.

 

 “Erm - fine?”  Harry fidgeted with the sleeve of his robe restlessly.  “I mean, at least Voldemort can’t get me now, right?”

 

Dumbledore smiled.  “Indeed.  Well, I called both of you to speak with you about your plans for the summer.  Harry, I understand how you feel about your aunt and uncle, and I know that you have no wish to return to them, however, I believe I have come upon an arrangement that will be mutually satisfying, while assuring your safety.”

 

Harry raised his eyebrows and leaned forward with interest.  He had assumed that he was stuck between either the Dursleys or Malfoy manor, and both choices were unpleasant, in entirely different ways.  And of course, he would never consider the crazy notion of letting himself be adopted by some stranger/psychotic-fan.  The idea of having another option intrigued him.

 

 “I have told you about the sacrificial blood-protections that exist on your home, protecting you from harm,” the headmaster continued, as Harry nodded.  “It is important to be able to maintain those protections, however, I have no desire for your to needlessly suffer the cruelty of your relations.  I propose that Minerva and I shall pay your relatives a visit, and ensure that you are safe and well taken care of for those two weeks that you are there.  I have other connections that can check in on you to assure that your well-being is taken into account.  Once those two weeks are up, you may remain at Hogwarts for the remainder of the summer.  How does that sound?”

 

Harry’s eyes were wide and shining with hope.  “I can stay here?  Truly?  Yes!  I agree!  Thank you!”  Harry looked over at Callidus with a brilliant grin, and Callidus couldn’t help grinning in return.

 

 “As for you Callidus, I have found some distant relations of the Prince’s.  The family name is Filodoxos, and they have a daughter a year younger than yourself who will be attending Hogwarts next year.  They have agreed to take you in for a month, and you shall be spending the rest of the summer at Hogwarts with Harry.”

 

 “Family?” Callidus had no idea that he had distant relatives.  He had never heard of the Filodoxos’.  But it couldn’t be so bad if they were willing to take him in.  It was strange to think that someone out there might want him.  It didn’t occur to Callidus that the headmaster might have exerted some pressure to convince the Filodoxos’ to take him.  “All right, Professor.”

 

Dumbledore beamed, satisfied that matters were taken care of.  “I’m happy that that has been settled.  You are both very important to me, and I have no wish for either of you to be unhappy.”

 

Harry smiled.  “Thank you again, Professor.”

 

 “You’re very welcome, Harry.”

 

The boys left Dumbledore’s office and ventured through the corridors and back down the stairs to find Draco.  They were excited to tell him the news, though they had a feeling that he might be disappointed; he was so eager that they stay at the Malfoy manor after all.  But there was no reason that they couldn’t visit him over the summer.  Hogwarts felt like home to both of them, and Dumbledore’s news was like a weight lifted off their chests.  The pair of them shared loopy euphoric grins as they all but flew down the stairs.

 

Draco was still in the Great Hall.  At this time of year, it was just where everyone had decided to congregate, and when they told him the news, he was unsurprisingly crestfallen.  However, Harry reassured him that they would certainly visit the manor, and perhaps, Draco could visit them at Hogwarts.  If Callidus and Harry were here, then why couldn’t Draco be as well?

 

It was late morning when the first victims (or ‘targets’ as Harry would say) of the prank appeared.  The student was a Hufflepuff, and walked into the Great Hall, unaware of the finger-streak marks in bright orange on their face.  The student was given questioning looks - could it have been a spell or potion gone wrong in their exam?  However, as morning slipped into afternoon, there were more and more marks.

 

Those who had touched the faucets had the prank potion magically imbued into their hands and fingertips.  The result was like a magic paintbrush or marker - whatever surface that those hands later touched left a colourful mark, in a vibrant colour that reflected the target’s personality.  To Callidus’s, Harry’s and Draco’s delight, it wasn’t long before the students realized the possibilities of the potion.

 

By that evening, chaotic marks in rainbow colours were all over the school.  Messages were written all over the walls (and on some portraits), ranging from answers to the exams, declarations of love and insults, to funny or offensive pictures.  It was utter madness, and it was wonderful.

 

There were a few students congratulating the Weasleys on a job well done, which had ruffled Draco’s and Callidus’s feathers, but the Weasley twins were quick to deny credit for the prank.

 

 “It wasn’t us!” said one.

 

 “Though it’s a bloody brilliant prank,” said the other.

 

 “Wish we’d’ve thought of it.”

 

By the end of the day, there were bets as to who the culprits were, and it was dreadfully tempting to take credit for the prank that the whole school was discussing.  Especially since it was the end of the year, and detentions wouldn’t even matter.  But in the end, Callidus and Harry were against it - they would be living at Hogwarts after all - if they had reputations as troublemakers like the Weasley twins did, they would never be permitted any freedom.  They would simply have to be satisfied with the sense of accomplishment of knowing that they had pranked the entire school (even if they didn’t actually target every single person).  It was a smug and warm feeling, knowing that everyone was talking about them.

 

The following day, due to all the Slytherins who had written home about the trio’s remarkable adventures, there was an article in the  _ Daily Prophet _ about Professor Quirrell’s so-called descent into madness that led to him attacking three ‘innocent’ first years.  The article was all but a cry for blood, demanding justice (ranging from firing Quirrell, to giving him the Dementor’s kiss - a punishment that would leave him a soulless husk.)  And once again, the trio were the talk of the school, and Harry was keeping his head down, while Draco preened and acted like he was centimeters away from snatching the philosopher’s stone for himself (though if any students asked him to describe the Stone itself, he would quickly change the topic.)  Either way, the trio’s star seemed to be on the ascent, and people could not help but think that great things were ahead for all of them.

 

That evening, when all the upperclassmen had finished up the last of their exams, it was the end-of-year feast.  As the trio entered the Great Hall, they gasped to see the room decked out in green and silver to celebrate Slytherins winning the House Cup for seven years in a row.  There was even a huge banner behind the High Table depicting a large serpent that seemed to undulate along the spread of fabric.

 

The trio sat down at their table, and not long after, Dumbledore made his way to the Head Table, and stood so that all eyes in the Great Hall were upon him.

 

 "Another year gone!  And I must trouble you with an old man's wheezing waffle before we sink our teeth into our delicious feast,” Dumbledore announced.  “What a year it has been! Hopefully your heads are all a little fuller than they were - you have the whole summer ahead to get them nice and empty before next year starts.

 "Now, as I understand it, the house cup here needs awarding, and the points stand thus: In fourth place, Gryffindor, with three hundred and twelve points; in third, Hufflepuff, with three hundred and fifty-two; Ravenclaw has four hundred and twenty-six and Slytherin, four hundred and seventy- two." 

 

The Slytherins at their table broke out into whoops and cheers, acting almost Gryffindor-ish in their enthusiasm.  Dumbledore glanced over at them, his eyes sparkling with mirth.

 

 “And so, I want everyone to say a hearty congratulations to Slytherin!  It was well deserved.”  At that, Dumbledore began applauding, and due to the entire school learning about the adventures of the Slytherin trio, the rest of the school began to applaud as well, many of them wearing surprisingly genuine smiles.

 

The trio grinned, buoyant with happiness at the victory of their House, as well as their own accomplishments - those that were both known (like the misadventures with Quirrell) and unknown (like the prank, which was finally starting to wear off, though some of the professors were still spitting mad about it.)  Surely, it was one of the best nights of their lives.

 

Not to be forgotten of course was the results of their exams which were to be received in the following days.  Harry seemed largely unconcerned, but Callidus and Hermione were in a state of nervous agitation, barely able to look at one another as they wondered: who bested who?  Since it was a beautiful June day, they had all gathered out in the Quad, and while Harry read his results with only a mild curiosity, Draco, Callidus and Hermione looked over their own grades with sweaty palms and fluttery stomachs.

 

Unsurprisingly, Callidus received the highest marks of his year in Potions, but also in Astronomy and Herbology as well (it helped that both Astronomy and Herbology was so relevant to Potions.)  Hermione received the highest marks in Charms, Transfigurations and History.  Draco managed to tie with them for top marks in Defence, which was better than nothing because Callidus knew how high Lucius Malfoy’s expectations were, and a part of Callidus suspected that credit to Draco’s marks could be due, in large part, to Hermione’s study schedule.  Harry may have been strong in the practical component for many of his classes, but his grades had been dragged down by the written portion.  However, Harry just shrugged and smiled, claiming that as long as he could do the magic, he was pleased.

 

After a visit to see Hagrid and his dragon Norbert (which turned out to be female, and thus became Norberta), they reassured him that they would be back over the summer, and would be able to enjoy many afternoons of exploration and tea.  And then their trunks were being packed up and schoolbooks were put away (in most cases with glee, but for those like Hermione, with a wistful sort of melancholy.)  They were taken back across the lake on the boats, and were soon boarding Hogwarts express back towards King’s Cross Station.

 

 “I still can’t believe you have to go back to those muggles,” Draco was saying, as they drew near to London.  

 

 “Yes, but this time, Dumbledore and Professor McGonagall will be there to make sure that they treat me right.  And it’s only for two weeks - I’ll probably spend that time doing my summer homework - yes I know I won that bet which means that you ought to be doing it for me, but without it, I reckon I’d be bored silly.  Are you looking forward to meeting your relatives, Cal?”

 

Callidus looked away from the window towards Harry.  “I don’t know.  If I don’t, we’ll meet up soon enough at Hogwarts.”

 

At King’s Cross Station, it took a while to get across the platform because the presence of too many witches and wizards at once was sure to alarm the muggles.  Draco had already found his family, who quickly disapparated, uncomfortable with the swarming crowd, and so, it was Callidus and Harry on the muggle side of the Station, awaiting their relatives.

 

On the muggle side of the train station, Callidus caught sight of Wystan, with his arm wrapped around Calypso’s waist.  The pair of them spotted him at the same time, and came over.  Wystan’s smile was wide, but curiously, Calypso’s was strained.

 

 “Callidus!  Harry!  Another year done,” Wystan said with a rueful smile.  “I can’t believe I won’t be going back to Hogwarts next year.  Are you two looking forward to the summer?”

 

 “Not particularly,” Callidus admitted.  He wasn’t dreading it, but he was nervous, unsure of whether or not he would like his new relatives.

 

 “Kind of, yes,” Harry replied.  “I’ll - we’ll be spending most of it at Hogwarts.”

 

 “Oh?  I didn’t realize they let students stay there over the summer,” Wystan commented.  “Oh, I think I see my father.  Hey, write me, yeah?  It’ll be good for us to keep up.  Bye, Callidus!”

 

 “Bye,” added Calypso, turning away as Wystan led her towards his family.  

 

Upon hearing her voice, Callidus froze on the spot.  It sounded oddly familiar (aside from the times he had spoken to her before.)  He could have almost sworn that her voice sounded like the shimmery distortion that had held the sharp blade at his throat.  Could it be?  What was it she had said to him?  Something about how she believed that he wasn’t Snape... but then the memory seemed to become a blur.  Perhaps he had been in too much of a shock at the time to recall.

 

 “Cal?”  Harry’s voice disrupted his stream of thoughts.  “Is everything okay?”

 

 “Huh?  I - yes, I suppose.”  Callidus frowned.  What was he to do with this information?  Was it really worth doing anything?  He had the feeling that Calypso would never be bothering him again (assuming it was Calypso, and perhaps it was - she had always given him funny looks.)

 

Was he dooming Wystan to be with a would-be killer?  On the other hand, Calypso didn’t really come anywhere near killing him, did she?  Wasn’t most of it Quirrell?

 

 “Cal?”  Harry repeated.

 

Callidus gave Harry a weak smile.  “I’m all right.  Just - trying to let go of the past.”

 

Harry gave him a funny look but then shrugged.  “Might as well look forward, right?  I have a feeling things will get better.”

 

Harry’s optimism made Callidus smile, and he let his worries flow away.  Yes, Calypso had tried to hurt him, but in the end, she hadn’t done anything serious.  She didn’t seem like a bad person - perhaps just a confused one, seeing as she couldn’t seem to separate his old self with his current self.  But he didn’t think she would make that mistake again.  And if there was, in fact, something he was forgetting about their encounter, then it must not have been very important.

 

 “Yes, I do believe that things are looking up for us,” Callidus replied, surprised by his own optimism.  More so because at the moment, he believed it - he had a potential new family, and Hogwarts felt like a home.  He had friends  _ and _ brothers.  Not to mention that he would soon be making royalties from his poison countermeasure potion.  Life was pretty good.

 

Harry spotted his purple-faced uncle first, who looked as though he were about to have an apoplectic fit on the spot.  As Harry was led away, Callidus could hear him say: “Professor Dumbledore and Professor McGonagall will be meeting us at the house,” which only made Harry’s uncle even more purple.

 

And then, finally, Callidus was approached by a group of three people - a skinny man with curly blond hair and with a rounded belly, a burly-looking brunette woman, and a young girl, close to his own age, with reddish-streaked curly brown hair, a long nose, and eyes almost as dark as his own.

 

 “Callidus Prince?”  The man asked with a friendly smile.

 

Callidus nodded.

 

The man held out his hand, and Callidus took it, shaking it firmly.  “I’m Segnis Filodoxos, this is my lovely wife Quinta, and my daughter Caiside.  Welcome to our family.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've had people (on ffn.net) ask if Cal will get his memory back - I was planning on it, but not in first year (as you can see).
> 
> I feel really guilty about making him cry though... but while it's true that both he and Harry have faced death threats, I think it's totally different when someone has something at your throat vs a wand in your face. The blade at the throat would feel so much more immediate.
> 
> Also, I didn't make up the name Caiside. It's pronounced Cassidy.
> 
> I've started on year 2, but since I'm preoccupied with other projects, it might be a while before I get to it. Thanks for reading!


End file.
